The Doom of Mandos
by Siriusgirl1
Summary: Sauron has been destroyed, and Middle Earth has entered the Dominion of Men. Elrond, the other Ringbearers and Glorfindel leave for the Undying Lands. The very few Elves left in Middle Earth are wary of the unsettling peace ... when a new Darkness arrives
1. Thoughts

**Disclaimer: **

I own nothing. Honestly. But you knew that already, didn't you? It's all JRR Tolkien's.

**Author's Note:**

It took me a rather long time to get this done … (I'm not kidding – I have typed out this chapter _at least_ four times, changing stuff and, finally, deleting the whole thing in annoyance).

I hope the effort was worthwhile – and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed thinking of it …

Here it is, Chapter One. Reviews are _most_ welcome ;

**Chapter One: Thoughts**

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Errestor walked through the deserted hallways, a thoughtful expression on his face. A cool wind blew in through the open archways, blowing his black hair around with it. He stopped walking, gazing out through one of the archways. The forests/gardens surrounding Imladris were still the same – as they had been for a long time …

… Yet they were lacking something … They were lacking the presence of Elves walking through them, talking to each other, or Elves sitting amongst the flowers and grass, leaning against the thick barks of trees, listening to the voices of the earth.

He shook his head slowly. Those times … would not come back again … saddening though it may sound, they would never come again. Why? The Elves had departed … over the Great Seas …

… To the land they _should_ have been living on.

Then why, he thought, didn't _he_ go with them? He wasn't a Ring Bearer – he was thankful of that – and he hadn't done any great deed that won him the favour of Manwë, the Lord of the Valar (unless he counted sitting in an office surrounded by books and rolls of parchment a _great deed_).

Yet, most Elves had departed to the Undying Lands … to their dwellings in the City of Tirion. And he was sure that _all_ of them hadn't done great deeds.

Then why hadn't he gone?

Elrond, the Master of Imladris, had passed onto the Undying Lands … with the others … and had been slightly reluctant to leave his children behind. Yes, he _did_ leave his children behind. Arwen Undómiel had married King Elessar of Gondor – and had forsaken her immortality to be with him. Elladan and Elrohir, however, had _not_ forsaken their immortality.

They had chosen to remain on Middle Earth for a while, to tend to their sister – _if_ she needed them at all – and to stay in the now peaceful land that they were born in. Errestor knew that Elrond wanted someone to keep an eye on his children – not that they needed it – but … just to ease his worry, being a father.

He also knew that Elrond was not willing to ask someone to stay behind on his behalf, and had kept quiet about it for a while, not willing to force an Elf to remain on Middle Earth.

Errestor, knowledgeable in people's characters as he was, had understood why Elrond had suddenly become worried and restless during his last few days in Imladris, to which he had returned after his daughter's wedding.

And being the _considerate _person _he_ was, he had told Elrond that he would remain on Middle Earth. Elrond wouldn't hear of it, so he had prepared a list of arguments to give him. They were something along the lines of; I don't have any family or anything to return to in the Undying Lands, I haven't done any great deeds to become welcome there, there's really nothing for me to do there and I'll die of boredom … and last but not least, I can have some peace here with Glorfindel gone …

The first few arguments, he thought, were true. He _had_ no family awaiting him back on the Undying Lands. Elrond did – he had his grandmother, Idril Celebrindal (_if_ she had made it to the land of Paradise) and he had his grandfather Tuor. His father, Ëarendil, who was currently sailing the skies on his ship _Vingilot_ would be shining brightly down on the Undying Lands, enabling Elrond to … be closer to him (in a way).

In any case, whether he had sailed with Elrond and the others or not, he would anyway have died of boredom. There was nothing much for him to do here in Imladris … and he was guessing that there would have been even less for him to do in Tirion.

He sighed, easing himself out of his thoughts and focusing his gaze back on the desolate gardens in front of him. " … Perhaps … I should clean my study …" he said aloud, remembering how he had planned on doing that many ages ago, but couldn't what with the birth of the twin sons of Elrond, and the arrival of Glorfindel before that.

He wondered how many _long lost_ items he would find in his immaculate study. Having never cleaned it once in the past two ages … he was willing to bet that there would be many items that he had put aside, meaning to re-locate them one day.

With one last look at the gardens, he turned around and continued walking down the hallway to his office.

**In Minas Tirith:**

He leaned against the pillar, his eyes searching out into the Mountains of the East. He still couldn't quite believe that evil had been vanquished from the phase of Middle Earth. Whenever he thought of the Mountain of the East, he immediately thought of Sauron and great evil, regardless of the fact that the mountains were now lying peaceful, lacking the evil that had made them become despised by the inhabitants of the land.

He turned his gaze away from the mountains, and towards the White Tree that was growing in the middle of the courtyard. His eyes softened somewhat as he remembered the forests of Lórien … and of Mirkwood – or Greenwood the Great as it now was called. He wondered if the grace of the Elves would leave Middle Earth for ever.

_Of course it would … the Elves were departing – if they hadn't done so already – to the Blessed Realm …_

He shuddered slightly as he remembered how close he had been to losing Arwen Undómiel … as she too had begun her journey to the Havens, from which she would set sail to the Blessed Realm. Thankfully, she had chosen to remain by his side, forsaking her immortality. He sometimes wondered if it was fair on her … to have chosen him over her father. He knew, with certainty, that Elrond had not been pleased when he had learned that his daughter had given up her immortality, yet he said nothing. He could not control her every movement or decision.

He shook his head. He should not dwell on things of the past. People that had no future dwelt on such things – at least that was what Elrond had told him one day when he was much younger. He had never known his real father … and until some time had passed, he had thought that Elrond was his _real_ father. That was until he had grown up and seen the difference in appearance of him and Elrond's sons Elladan and Elrohir.

He remembered how fair Middle Earth had been long ago, before Sauron had re-awakened. He remembered the lush forests of Lórien, the realm of the Queen Galadriél. He remembered the Halls of Thranduil, the King of Greenwood (as darkness hadn't come into it at that time) …

Speaking of Thranduil … he wondered – his expression sobered - he wondered if Legolas would leave to the Blessed Realm. For some reason, the thought saddened him. Even though he knew that all elves must, at some point, sail away, he had never thought that the time was … coming so close …

Who would be left on Middle Earth if all the remaining elves were to leave? Who would tend to the woods and plants? Who would make Middle Earth beautiful?

"And what, is the King of Gondor doing, looking so heartbroken?" He turned around slowly, to meet the beautiful face of Arwen … his Queen.

" … Thinking of … certain things …" he replied, smiling at her. Even as a mortal, she still looked beautiful with her raven hair and grey eyes.

"Of what things?" she asked, her soft voice doing much to soothe his troubled mind. He sighed heavily.

"Things that I should not be thinking of …" he said. "For they are natural …" Arwen looked thoughtfully at him before turning her gaze to the White Tree.

"Do not dwell on the Passing of my – of the Elves," she said, correcting herself. "Their time is over. The time now, is the Time of Men … mortal though we are we have been appointed as the 'caretakers' of Middle Earth …"

"Yet what can we do, compared to what the Elves have done for this land?" asked Aragorn – King Elessar of Gondor.

"We can do much," said Arwen. "Though we cannot do what the Elves did. We can protect this land until our last days, and we can protect the people inhabiting this land. _That_ is what we must do … protect the peoples of Middle Earth, and prevent Darkness from spreading again ..."

"Tell me, Undómiel …" said Elessar, fixing her with an intense gaze. "Are you happy here?" Arwen hid her surprise well. "Do you not think that you should have followed your kin … to the Blessed Realm?" Arwen held his gaze evenly, her grey eyes clear.

"If I wished to follow my kin to the Blessed Realm, I would never have forsaken the gift of my people … I would have remained as Arwen Undómiel, immortal daughter of Elrond Half-Elven," she said, her voice strong. "If I didn't think that I would be happy here … I wouldn't have made that decision …"

Aragorn sighed. "Forgive me …" he said. "For that was a not a question that I should have asked you …" Arwen placed her hand on his shoulder, lightly.

"You did nothing to ask for my forgiveness," she said, her eyes shining at him. "I will repeat it again; do not dwell on the past … you know what … my father used to say about that …" Aragorn nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping a little.

"You are right …" he said. "Then again, you always were …" Arwen replied with a beautiful smile, her grey eyes twinkling.

"Come … a mug of tea and a walk through the gardens will serve to soothe your worries …" she said, slipping her palm into his. With a last look at the mountains of the east, Aragorn followed his wife.

**Back in Imladris:**

****

His eyes widened in amazement as he stared at the painting in his hands. It was covered with a thick layer of dust – which was expected as he hadn't seen it for the past thousands of years – and its age showed … but it was still in a recognizable state. He had to admit that he had never thought that he would find it again.

He ran a hand through his black hair as he looked around him for a piece of cloth that he could use to remove the dust on it. He sighed as he saw the rest of his office. He wouldn't have been able to find a _chair_ in this state. True to his thought, he had started cleaning his office … and, although he uncovered many things he had thought he had lost, it wasn't a very … pleasing bout of cleaning.

Things were scattered here and there – on the chair, table, shelves, and floor and _even_ on the windowsill. There were books, quills, pieces of _very old_ parchment, vases (which he had _no idea_ where he got from), paintings, pieces of cloth (he was utterly baffled at this point), and there was also a rather large, old dinner gong.

Rummaging through the pile of parchment and books lying on the floor next to him, he managed to extract a piece of brown cloth from somewhere. Turning back to the painting, he gently pressed the cloth against it, not wanting to remove the paint. After a while, he placed the cloth aside and held the picture up in his hands.

A rare, gentle smile passed across his face as he took in the rather clumsily drawn background of mountains (which looked like they had been created by dropping two blobs of green paint onto the paper) and the elves standing in front of them. The features of the elves weren't recognizable at all … that he had to admit. In fact, when he had received it, he hadn't known who was who, until the picture had been taken and returned with the elves' names written next to the figures.

He smiled. At the center of the whole group of elves, was a black haired elf with the name 'Restor'. On either side of him were two elves called 'Dan' and 'Hir' and next to 'Dan' was 'Ada' who had a 'Naneth' next to him. Next to 'Hir' was a golden haired elf called 'Lorfi.' He smiled again. This had been one of the first _paintings _that he had received as a gift.

And one of the first gifts he had received as a 'thank you 'Restor!'

He was still holding the picture when his keen sense of hearing caught the sound of two sets of footsteps walking lightly towards his office. He looked towards his door, surprised. Who could that be? He doubted whether it was one of the few elves still dwelling in Imladris.

The two figures appeared at his doorway, looking confused. Errestor sighed in relief. It was _them_ … He turned back to the picture, guessing that it would take a while for the twins to find him amongst the heaps and heaps of items littered around the room.

"Hey … 'Dan … he's not here …" said a voice, sounding surprised.

"Sina ná lá ve sambërya," said another voice, slowly. (_This is not like his room)_. Errestor raised one of his eyebrows. It didn't look like his room, did it?

"Mana car ellë atta tul sinomë?" he asked. (Something along the lines of: _What brings you two here?)_ The two elves jumped slightly before spotting him, seated amidst piles of books and parchments.

"Restor!" said Elrohir, grinning at the other black haired elf.

" … …"

"What have you done to your office?" asked Elladan, looking all around. Errestor sighed.

"I was cleaning it," he said. The twins stared at him, looking rather alarmed, and causing him to add; "I am _not_ leaving." He smirked as he saw the quick expressions of relief that passed across their faces.

Now _very_ mature elves, Elladan and Elrohir resembled their father more and more each day. Their black hair and grey eyes was one thing, but their abilities to read more than the direct meaning in people's words, and to be almost able to read people's hearts … well, those were two entirely different things.

"Why were you cleaning it then?" asked Elrohir, moving forward, avoiding stepping on any of the books or parchment. He plopped himself on the ground next to Errestor, who was sitting in front of one of the lower cupboards in the office.

"Because it was what I was planning on doing many years ago … when you two were born and needed _attention_ …" said Errestor. "And, of course, cleaning it any time _after_ you two were born was just pure suicide … what with your 'longing' to 'destroy' things …" Elladan grinned.

"Hey … we were in our _learning _stage when we accidentally set fire to the reports grandmother had asked for," he said.

"_Accidentally_?" muttered Errestor.

"Yeah … and we learnt not to set fire to reports ever again – especially not to Restor's reports …" said Elladan, grinning. Elrohir was staring at the painting in his hands, the expression on his face one of surprise.

"Hey! Restor is that what I think it is?" he asked, nodding at the picture. Errestor nodded, a small smile forming on his face.

"Yes … this is the painting I was given by two little imps, as a 'thank you 'Restor' present," he said. He fought the urge to laugh as he saw the rather embarrassed faces of the twins. Elladan soon joined his brother and was seated next to him and Errestor. They stared at the picture, amused.

"I remember this! You didn't know who was who, so – "

" – We took it back and returned it with everyone's names on it," finished Elrohir. Errestor nodded.

"Yes … to be honest, I thought I had lost this," he said.

"Geez! That's nice," said Elrohir, giving him a phony glare. "You give someone a present – "

" – And they loose it," said Elladan, finishing his brother's lines as usual. Errestor shrugged.

"There are plenty of other things that I found that I don't know _how_ I got them in the first place," he said. "This dinner gong, for example …" The twins examined the dinner gong, wicked grins creeping into their faces. Errestor recognized those grins and was alert at once. "Do you by any chance happen to know where this is from?" he asked, shrewdly. Elladan grinned.

"Remember that elf from Lórien that visited us ages ago?" he asked. "The one with brown hair … who was always saying that 'this was wrong' and 'that was wrong' about Rivendell?"

"Yes …" said Errestor, warily.

"Well we sneaked into his room – _accidentally_ of course – and found this dinner gong," said Elrohir. "It was apparently one of his prized possessions … so we took it …"

"But he was walking down the corridor when we were walking to our rooms, so we snuck into your office – "

" – My office?" spluttered Errestor, indignantly.

" – It was the only room that was close by," said Elladan. "And we hid it …" Errestor glared at them, staring distastefully at the dinner gong.

"And you never thought about returning it to him?" he asked.

"Nope. He never came back after that anyway," said Elrohir. Errestor sighed. It was a wonder, he decided, that all the Elves hadn't departed to the Undying Lands a few years _after_ the twins were born, what with their tricks and warped up senses of humour.

He placed the picture in his hands gently on the ground, and looked back at the cupboard. He was starting to get tired of cleaning this now. He completely missed the exchange of glances going on beside him, as he was concentrating on strengthening his will enough to finish cleaning the cupboard.

"Hey … Restor …?" said Elrohir, slowly.

"Hnn?" grunted Errestor, trying to pull out a rather heavy box from the cupboard. Elrohir glanced at his brother again.

"I – Elladan and I … we think …" He trailed off, not knowing how to put it. Errestor, by now, had stopped tugging at the box and was looking at the twins, curiously.

"Yes?" he asked.

"We know that Sauron has been defeated, and the One Ring destroyed …" said Elladan, hurriedly. "And we know that Darkness has been vanquished from Middle Earth …" Errestor nodded slowly, wondering where this was going.

"But … 'Dan and I have … been uneasy lately …" continued Elrohir. This made Elrond's second in command frown slightly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well … as of late, our hearts have been troubled …" said Elladan. "I really can't explain it … but … it's as though … as though something's …"

"Something's going to happen?" asked Errestor. The twins nodded, looking – much to his surprise – afraid. They hadn't looked afraid since … since they had been little elflings.

"It's like … like Darkness will rise again …" said Elladan. Errestor frowned again.

"We know it sounds stupid," said Elrohir suddenly. "And we thought so too but – " He stopped as Errestor shook his head.

"It does not sound stupid," he said, wisely. "As long as people inhabit Middle-Earth … Darkness is sure to rise once more …" He stared absently at the twins. "Yet … what puzzles me … is as to who it could be. Who could possibly rise again from the Darkness?"

"That is what confuses us," said Elrohir. A bead of sweat trickled down Errestor's face as a voice recited something in his head. The words were simple … but their meaning … His eyes widened ever so slightly as he remembered a saying that all Elves had, at one time known, though that was before the arrival of Sauron the Deceiver.

"Restor?"

"What's wrong?" Errestor shook his head lightly, an unconvincing smile on his face.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all …" The twins' expressions told him that they didn't believe him. "You … may – or may not – have felt a forewarning …"

" … That Darkness _will _rise again?" asked Elladan. Errestor nodded slowly.

"Yet we cannot be sure," he said. "For the thought seems somewhat absurd …" He looked at the twins. "Have you told anyone else about this?" They shook their heads.

"No … we didn't think it would be sensible in warning them about something that might not even happen," said Elrohir.

"That _is_ true …" agreed Errestor.

"What do _you_ think the Darkness will be, Restor?" asked Elladan. "_If_ it were to rise again?" Errestor was having a mental debate with himself as to whether he should tell the twins or not. On one hand, it was no point in alarming them about a foe they had not been around to see … but on the other hand, it was best if they knew of the saying … just in case …

"Do you two remember your History lessons?" he asked. "The ones you had with me?" The twins shook their heads, grinning.

"You forget we didn't pay any attention to them." He sighed.

"Ah, yes," he muttered. "Yet … you _do_ remember … that there was a Dark Lord that reigned in Middle-Earth _before_ Sauron … don't you?"

"Yes," said Elrohir. "Morgoth – Melkor – the Valar." Errestor winced slightly.

"He is not counted amongst the Great Valar anymore," he reprimanded. "But … yes, he was the Dark Lord that lived three ages ago." He paused, wondering how he should put this. He heard the sharp intake of breath and looked up to see Elladan – the older twin – staring at him with his eyes wide.

"Are you saying … that … that _he_ – " Errestor shook his head.

"You may not know this, but there has been a prophecy … one that was told to the Valar and the Noldor, by the Dooms man of the Valar, in the Ring of Doom …" he said. "No one knows if he spoke the truth or if it was merely a saying."

The sky outside began to darken somewhat, casting eerie shadows on the deserted hallways and inside the rooms and offices.

"He said; '_When the world is old and the Powers go weary, then Morgoth shall come back through the Door out of the Timeless Night; and he shall destroy the Sun and the Moon, but Ëarendil shall come upon him as a White Flame and drive him from the airs,"_ Errestor paused, absently noticing the shadows that were falling inside his office. "_Then shall the last battle be gathered on the fields of Valinor. In that day, Tulkas shall strive with Melkor and on his right shall stand Fionwë and on his left Túrin Turambar, son of Húrin, Conqueror of Fate; and it shall be the black sword of Túrin that deals unto Melkor his death and final end._"

There was a long silence after he had finished, during which the three elves sat where they were, unreadable expressions on their faces, and their minds whirling with questions.

_Was it true? Or was it merely a 'saying?'_

__

**Author's Note:**

Well??? Did you like it? I hope you did! As you might have noticed, Elrond, Galadriel, Frodo, Gandalf, Cirdan and Glorfindel have departed from Middle Earth. Will they return? Heh … it is supposedly impossible unless 'special' circumstances arise … but you never know!

A new character will appear in one of the next chapters … and her heritage will be rather surprising to everyone. Just to let you know, much more time has to pass before 'Darkness' rises again, so please bear with me!

The elvish I have used here, I am not a _hundred_ percent sure about the structure … but I tried. Should I use _some_ elvish in the next chapters? Please let me know what you think!

Reviews are most welcome ;

Till next time!

Siriusgirl1


	2. The Undying Lands

**Disclaimer: **

I don't _really_ need to do this again, do I? I mean … you know that I don't own anything (except for one or two characters of my invention) … right?

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for your review, red mage 1! I only hope that this chapter is something like what you expected … Hope you like this! And thanks for your compliments!

Ilúvatar is the father of the Valar. He is also called the 'One' or 'Eru' because of this. A lot of the things to do with Middle-Earth had to do with Ilúvatar. He created the Elves and Men, and he created the Valar and Maiar.

Oh, and the 'saying' that Errestor recites in the previous chapter is from '_The Shaping of Middle-Earth'_ on page 73. I changed the wording a little, so that it wouldn't be _exactly _the same as the one in the book. The facts were kept the same though.

That's about it … I think …

Here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter Two: The Undying Lands**

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Vairë glanced at her husband again, pausing her knitting a little. He was still seated on his chair, with is eyes closed. She sighed, turning sadly back to her knitting. He had been like that for many years now … not even attending most of the meetings called for by Manwë. She stared at the piece of cloth in her hands. It shimmered palely even in the darkness of Mandos' Halls. What was wrong with her husband? She knew that his duty was to give guidance and protection to the souls of the dead – whether they were Elves or not – but he was always engrossed in his work … He had never been _this_ engrossed in his work either.

From her place seated on the small step beside his chair, she reached out to touch his hand. Her eyes widened as she felt the coldness of his skin seep into hers. Standing up with the cloak she had been knitting, she placed it around his still, seated form, carefully tucking it in. He still didn't move. Lowering her head, she sat back down, her eyes downcast.

**Meanwhile in Taniquetil:**

"Is it right to set out as such?" questioned Varda, looking at her husband. Manwë didn't turn away from his place next to the window.

"Whether it is right or not … it has already been begun," he said, quietly. Varda sighed.

"Yet … we were told not to get involved in the battles of Middle-Earth …" she said softly. "Ilúvatar has specifically told us – "

"How long, Varda?" asked Manwë, turning to face her. "How much longer must we let Middle Earth suffer? How long must the land created by Aulë and Yavanna, and watched over by Ulmo suffer?"

"I do not know that," said Varda. "Yet … do you really think that the re-incarnation alone can defeat Him, Manwë Súlimo?" Manwë turned back to the window.

"I know it cannot defeat him …" he said. "But it can prolong his success and help the peoples of Middle-Earth in the dark times that are to come …"

Varda said nothing. She knew that Manwë wouldn't do anything without a good reason for it … and yet she couldn't help but wonder whether it was correct … to disobey the orders of Ilúvatar – their father.

**And in the city of ****Tirion****:**

Galadriél smiled as she walked down the crystal stairs of the city of Tirion. She had missed this city and had longed to return to it one day, even whilst she was in Middle-Earth.

Her smile faded slightly as she thought of Middle-Earth. She had worked hard, and for a long time, to keep the land beautiful, as did the other great Elf Lords. She wondered how her grandchildren were doing, having chosen to remain in Middle-Earth, at least for some more time. She wondered how her husband Celeborn was doing. Was he still dwelling in Lórien? Or had he left and moved his dwellings elsewhere?

Were Elladan and Elrohir safe? If so, what were they doing with no Orcs to hunt down? Was Arwen happy at last, by Aragorn's side? She wondered again whether Elladan and Elrohir would come to Tirion one day … She knew that they, unlike their sister, had chosen to remain as Elves … but the thought as to why they didn't come with them to the Undying Lands puzzled her.

"What are you thinking about so hard, Altáriél?" asked a soft voice, making her look up. She smiled as she saw the dark haired daughter of Olwë, High King of the Teleri elves walking down the stairs towards her.

"Naneth …" she said, her heart lightening as she merely said the word. Ëarwen smiled fondly at her daughter, although her clear, grey eyes showed signs of sadness. Out of all her children … Altáriél was the only one that still lived, having not perished at the hands of Morgoth _or _of Sauron. "I am much more used to the name Galadriél, Naneth …" said Galadriél, smiling.

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her before she understood. "I see … that is what they called you in Middle-Earth …" she said. Galadriél nodded.

"Where is Ada, Naneth?" she asked, suddenly. Ëarwen smiled fondly.

"Finarfin has gone to visit some friends in Alqualondë …" she said.

"Why did you not go with him?" asked Galadriél, surprised. She guessed why almost immediately. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Elyë nar lá alassë sinomë …" said Ëarwen, after a while. Galadriél smiled once again, although she turned away from her mother. (_You are not happy here)_

"Alassënya mar na lá sinome …" she whispered to herself, before turning back to her mother. (_My happiness is not here). _"I _am_ happy to return to the place of my birth, Naneth …" Ëarwen said nothing, before she sighed.

"I hope you say it truthfully," she said. Galadriél didn't reply.

Elrond gazed at the magnificent sea below him, his face serious. A cool wind blew across the balcony he was standing in, ruffling his black hair. The City of Tirion was better than he had imagined it … with its crystal staircases and White towers … and the wealth of gems and beautiful paintings embedded and painted on the walls.

Even the flowers growing here were far more beautiful than those growing on Middle-Earth …

He sighed. No matter what he did – be it walking around the gardens, walking up and down staircases, reading books – he couldn't forget Middle-Earth. It was no wonder too. Middle-Earth was the land of his birth … and yet here he was in the Undying Lands, a land that was almost like paradise, and that was foreign to him.

"You do not laugh like you used to before …" said a voice, gently reprimanding him as two arms encircled his waist from behind.

" … Forgive me … Celebrian …" he said, sighing. Celebrian let go of him and moved to his side.

"What bothers you, Elrond?" she asked, allowing the breeze to blow her golden hair around her. "Why are you so serious? Even here?"

"You will not understand Celebrian …" said Elrond, not looking at his wife. Celebrian frowned.

"Try me," she said. Elrond didn't say anything. " … What has happened to you Elrond? I leave you for 511 years and you become distant and brooding …" Elrond closed his eyes.

"I was thinking about our children, Celebrian …" he said, slowly. Celebrian turned her gaze to the sea. A silence ensued.

" … They have made their own decisions, Elrond," she said at last. "They are doing what they think is best … Why must we brood when they are happy?" Elrond had a feeling that she would say that.

He loved his wife dearly, and had mourned deeply when she had departed over the sea 511 years ago, in the year 2510 of the Third Age, as a result of being poisoned by Orcs. Yet she did not understand his grief at all … she had left her family years ago, and had not had to look after them in their youth – he had to do all of that. She wasn't cold hearted in any means … it was just … she wouldn't understand his sadness and his worries.

Celebrian sighed as she saw her husband deep in thought. It was no use. Whatever she tried to tell him, or whenever she tried to talk to him, he always tuned her voice out, thinking of something or the other.

Why couldn't he understand that Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were probably happier remaining in Middle Earth? Even though Elladan and Elrohir were of the Eldar?

Hanging her head, she turned around and walked away, sadness creeping into her heart. Was she not enough for him?

Elrond listened as Celebrian's footsteps faded, telling him that she had gone. He knew that she was hurt, and he was saddened by the thought that it was probably because of him, but … having raised his children by himself for 511 years, he couldn't get rid of the worry that crept into his heart at the thought of them remaining on Middle-Earth and fading …

He knew that Elladan and Elrohir had chosen to be counted among the mighty Eldar, and that they had kept their immortality. This meant that they would one day cross the seas and come to Tirion … but how long would he have to wait? Then there was Arwen, having forsaken her immortality and chosen to lead a mortal life … when would _she_ fade? And who would be by her side?

"A Balrog for your thoughts," said a familiar voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. Elrond didn't need to turn around to guess who it was. The selection of words, in any case, was easy to recognize.

"Glorfindel …" he said.

"Right you are!" said the golden haired elf lord cheerfully, as he joined his friend by the railing. "The sea _is_ quite beautiful, isn't it?" Elrond nodded slowly.

"Yes …" he said. Glorfindel glanced at him out of the corners of his light blue eyes, before turning them back to the sea.

"Heh … I wonder if Elladan and Elrohir have driven Errestor to the brink of insanity yet …" he said, attempting to lighten the mood a little. It served to do as he wished, as a small smile appeared on Elrond's face as he thought of his sons annoying Errestor.

"I should hope they haven't," he said. "Errestor should have come with us …" Glorfindel sighed.

"He has his strange reasons …" he said.

"Indeed …" said Elrond, hot forgetting the feeling that he had that Errestor had stayed behind on _his_ behalf, to look after his children. Glorfindel sighed inwardly.

"I am beginning to wish that I never came here …" he muttered, a grouchy expression forming on his face.

"Why not?" asked Elrond, surprised. He had thought that Glorfindel, being a Vanyar elf in both of his two lives – his first _and_ second ones – would have loved coming back 'home.'

"Why not? Would you like staying here when everywhere you go, mothers come running after you talking about their 'beautiful' daughters that are 'cheerful' and 'lovely' and who would make 'wonderful' wives for you?" asked Glorfindel. Elrond chuckled.

"But aren't they right?" he asked. "Shouldn't you settle down with a wife soon?" Glorfindel glared at him.

"EXCUSE ME," he said. "But I don't think I want to get married to someone – especially to someone here – and have to take orders from her …" Elrond raised an eyebrow at him. "What? Galadriél was like that to Celeborn!"

"Are you _still_ going on about that?" asked Elrond, sighing.

"It's true! Galadriél ordered Celeborn around like a poor little … a poor little …" Glorfindel stopped. "Never mind like what, but she did!"

"And do you have proof?" asked Elrond.

"Proof? **Proof**?" asked Glorfindel. " … Well … not really … but one look at Galadriél tells you that she's capable of doing something like that!" Elrond shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered if this _really _was the Balrog Slayer that had lived in Gondolin …

"If you say so, Glorfindel," he said, resignedly. Glorfindel grinned in triumph. His sharp hearing caught the sound of footsteps heading towards them, and two voices along with them. His face paled. "I have to get out of here! I HAVE to get out of here! I need to get out of here!" he whispered, looking around him hurriedly.

"What ever for?" asked Elrond, startled at his friend's behaviour.

"Two elves are coming up this way – no doubt one of this is planning on introducing me to her daughter!" replied Glorfindel. Elrond grinned.

"Then you should stay," he said. Glorfindel glared at him, making him sigh. "There is always the other staircase …" he said, nodding towards the staircase to the far left. Glorfindel nodded, beaming at him.

"Thank you!" he said. "I will never forget your help!" With that, he was bolting down the stairs in a flash of gold. Elrond shook his head. He _really_ wondered if this elf had even been capable of slaying a Balrog …

**Meanwhile, in the Halls of Mandos:**

He wandered through the inner realms of his Halls, nodding at the various spirits of the dead as he went on. Everything around him was rather dark – similar to the rest of his Halls. Reaching the end of the realm he was wandering through, he stopped. There was a curtain of extreme darkness in lying in front of him, looking threatening.

He smiled. He had made the curtain of darkness in hopes that it would look threatening … threatening enough to stop other spirits from wandering into the area behind it. The other main purpose of the curtain was to ensure the safety of the spirit on the other side of it. When he said 'spirit' he meant a soul of the dead … that had been re-born years ago, and that was growing up in shelter in his Halls, away from the rest of her kind …

He had been raising this almost completely 're-incarnated' spirit ever since she was re-incarnated … and was waiting for the signal from Manwë, so that he could release her into the world, and out of his Halls. She had died in her elfling days, and when she had been re-incarnated, she had been the same age and size she had been the day she died.

He frowned slightly as he wondered, not for the first time, whether their father Ilúvatar would be happy at what he and Manwë had done. He had, after all, forbidden them to have anything to do with the battles of Middle-Earth anymore …

He moved through the curtain smoothly, before pausing again and looking around. Seated on the ground of the 'room', and facing him, was the young elf. He smiled grimly. She was not _wholly _re-incarnated yet ... It was taking time to complete her re-incarnation. As it was, she wasn't a _spirit_ of the dead … but she wasn't _completely_ alive yet …

She was just … there …

The elf stood up as he approached, using his mind to awaken her mind that was still not able to function on its own. If he had sent his 'real' form to deal with this Elf, he might have achieved her re-incarnation much sooner … or he might have destroyed her. As it was, whenever he visited the 'inner realms' of his Halls, he sent _his_ spirit in _his_ place – mentally. This ghostly image of his traveled around the 'inner realms' whilst he _actually_ sat still in his seat, eyes closed in concentration as he navigated this _spirit_ around.

" … Lord Mandos …" The voice caught his attention. The elf was standing straight and was staring at him through slightly dazed crystal clear light green eyes. Mandos widened his eyes slightly. She had spoken … _she_ had _spoken_ …

A wave of relief flowed through him. In her _almost_ re-incarnated form, she hadn't been able to talk, or move around independently. He had to tell her to sit, to walk, or to stand – she was just a zombie sort of being.

And now … she had spoken … without him even asking her to. That meant that the re-incarnation was becoming complete …

"It is not time yet …" he said. The elf's eyes lowered, showing her disappointment although she tried to hide it.

" … I see …" she said, dully. She closed her eyes. He did the same, probing her mind. He read her thoughts once more.

"It is not time yet for that either, Ëariel Mirëlómë …" he said softly, answering her unvoiced question of whether or not she would ever see her family again. How was he supposed to tell her that her family was no more? "Patience, the time is nearing," he said, having a feeling that Manwë would ask of him to release her from his Halls soon.

The elf sighed sadly, shaking her head and her long hair. "Yes, my lord …" she said. Mandos opened his mouth to say something, when a voice started shouting in his head. He looked around him, his expression guilty, as he tried to get the voice out of his head. His eyes widened slightly as he felt something hit him. He went reeling backward, through the curtain, through the realms –

- He opened his eyes, breathing heavily. Beads of sweat trickled down his face and neck as he took in deep breaths of air. It took him a while to get focused on his surroundings, and when he did, he saw that he was seated on his throne, leaning forward.

Vairë knelt down beside him, placing her hand on his, an expression of worry on her face. She frowned slightly as she watched him breathe heavily … and as the beads of sweat trickled down his face.

" … My Lord?" she asked, softly. "Mandos?" He stared at her, a glint entering his eyes. She shivered inwardly as she saw the glint in his eyes. When she next looked at him, however, the light was gone.

"M – Manwë …" said Mandos, hoarsely. "Must … tell … Manwë … Ilúvatar …" He broke off as he stood up straight, heading towards the doors. Vairë stared after him, a mixed look of questioning and pain on her face.

What had happened to him in his realms? And why had he spoken of Manwë … and Ilúvatar?

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**Author's note:**

Well, I hope that was good! Thanks again for your reviews for the first chapter! I know this chapter didn't have anything to do with Arwen and the others in Middle Earth … but I wanted to bring out the Valar, and one of my own characters – Ëariel Mirëlómë.

Who is Ëariel Mirëlómë? Well… that's for you to find out in the later chapters!

Reviews, once again, are most welcome!

See ya soon!

Siriusgirl1


	3. A Sign?

**Disclaimer:**

Like I said in the last chapter, and in the chapter before that, I own nothing to do with _The Lord of the Rings._ It all belongs to JRR Tolkien. The only things that I _do_ own are the posters that are up on my wall, and the various books written together with _The Lord of the Rings_. (And the whole character of Ëariel Mirëlómë)

**Author's Note:**

Well, the last chapter was about the Undying Lands and the Valar and other elves that sailed there. This chapter goes back to Middle-Earth. I hope you enjoy this, and once again, reviews are welcome!

Thanks to Crow for your review!

Here's chapter three! Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: A Sign?**

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It was the Year 1428 of the Fourth Age. Middle-Earth was still at peace, and people rejoiced at the gift of peace given to them, and guarded for them by the High Powers of the Land.

On this particular day, however, people rejoiced more, and the atmosphere surrounding the nearest dwellings of the races living in Middle-Earth were more pleasant than before.

It was only the 1st of March of the Year, and, although it was the King of Gondor, Elessar's birthday, it was unusual for so much celebration and happiness everywhere.

There was a more important reason for the cheer around the area of Middle-Earth that was close to Minas Tirith. For on the very day, though many _many_ years later, as King Elessar's birth date, a son was born to him and his Queen, Arwen Undómiel. A son who they named Eldarion the Fair, for he had the likeliness of both an immortal elf _and a_ mortal man.

Arwen smiled at the bundle in her arms, her hands tenderly stoking the baby's bald head. Beside her, looking equally happy, was Elessar, who was also called Aragorn, and Estel.

"Legolas and Gimli will be here short – " Elessar was cut off when the doors to the chamber were burst open. Both he and Arwen turned towards the doors, rather surprised. Legolas strode into the room, looking as though he had been riding through a tornado, with his hair blown all over his head. For once in his life, the elf didn't bother about keeping his hair neat and tidy.

His gaze landed on Arwen, seated on the bed, and to Elessar standing beside her. A smile broke out on his face as he walked up to them, towards the other side of Arwen.

" … Can I hold him?" he asked, simply. Arwen nodded, handing the baby boy to him. The Sindar elf took the baby in his arms carefully, half afraid that he would do something to hurt the little thing. Two things happened at that precise moment; Gimli ran into the room, breathing heavily, and the baby opened his eyes and started crying.

Legolas shot Gimli a dirty look before handing the baby back to Arwen, who held him close to her and whispered softly into his ear. Whatever she did seemed to have worked, as he stopped crying, and settled for looking around, dazed.

Gimli walked up to them, peering down at the baby from beside Legolas. "Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" asked Legolas.

"Does he have pointy ears?" asked Gimli. Elessar and Legolas exchanged amused glances, which did not go unnoticed to the dwarf. "What? I just asked a simple question!" he said. "Does he have pointy ears?"

Arwen shook her head slowly. Legolas fixed her with her searching gaze as he saw her caress one of the baby's small, round ears. The smile on her face seemed to look weak to him.

"No, Gimli," she said. "He … will not be of the race of Elves …" Gimli opened his mouth to say something when an 'accidental' nudge from Legolas made him turn towards the blond elf, only to see his warning glare.

"Oh …" was all he said in return. Legolas smiled as a thought struck him.

"Undómiel, do you remember your brothers' stories about what Estel over here did when he was a child?" he asked. Arwen thought for a moment, before nodding vigourously.

"Yes, how can one forget those?" she asked, shooting a smirk in Elessar's direction.

"Since Eldarion … is his _son_ …" said Legolas. "I think the two of you will have a lot to deal with." Arwen laughed merrily.

"Yet … I think that Estel will have the most to deal with," she said. "I remember when Elladan and Elrohir were young … they left Naneth alone, not bothering her with their pranks. They mostly annoyed … Ada … Glorfindel and Errestor." Arwen fought slightly more than she had expected to, to keep the smile on her face as she mentioned her father and Glorfindel. Two elves that were close to her – her father the most – that would never see … her son …

"True …" said Elessar, smiling and seeming not to have noticed the very slight falter in Arwen's voice at the mention of her father. "Looks like I'll be getting grey hairs sooner than expected …" Gimli chuckled.

"What makes you think you don't have them already?" he teased. Elessar grinned.

"I look _nowhere_ near as old as you do, my friend," he said. Legolas sighed as he watched Arwen's eyes become dazed. He knew that she didn't regret what she had done … it was just sadness at the thought that she wouldn't get to see her father again …

"Well, I must be off," he said rather reluctantly.

"What? So soon?" asked Elessar. Legolas smiled.

"I, unlike _you_, O mighty King of Gondor, am a busy man," he said. "Or rather a busy elf."

"And I, unlike _you_, O busy Elf Lord of Ithilien, am not obsessed with my hair …" said Elessar, smiling as well. Legolas shrugged.

"Yes, well, even _if_ you were to fuss over it in an attempt to make it look nice, it wouldn't work, so it's just as well that you're not obsessed with it," he said.

"True," admitted Elessar. Legolas grinned, before he took his leave, walking outside the room.

"I should get going too, Arag – Este – Elessar – " Gimli stopped, confused. "What the devil am I to call you?" Elessar smiled.

"Whatever you wish to," he said. "Aragorn, if that is what you are used to."

"Very well," said Gimli. "I must go too, Aragorn. Look after yourselves …" With that, he followed Legolas outside the room.

**A few weeks later in Imladris:**

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Errestor was thoughtful as he entered the cellar. Six years had now passed since the departure of the Elves, and since the start of the Fourth Age. It was eight years since the end of the war with Sauron – and since the end of Sauron himself. And it was roughly five years since Elladan and Elrohir had come to him, telling him about the fears that they had about the rise of darkness – yet again.

So far, however, he had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Things were much the same as they had been for the past couple of years … there had been no news of Orcs attacking any village, or killing anyone … and he _knew_ that the Orcs were still around. They were simply too afraid to come out without a strong force to back them up, like Sauron.

Elladan and Elrohir had twice returned fruitless from their journeys to locate and exterminate the remaining Orcs. That bothered Errestor. Then again, almost everything bothered Errestor. He thought that it was strange that Elladan and Elrohir, expert trackers, could not find any trace of the Orcs. Either the Orcs had suddenly become invisible, or they were hiding, and planning something.

Neither of those thoughts pleased him much.

What _did_ please him, however, was the news that they had received that Arwen Undómiel had given birth to a son. He, Elladan, Elrohir and the elves of Imladris (and, no doubt the Elves of the kingdom of Celeborn, East Lórien) had wanted to set out to Minas Tirith immediately, but had been stopped by a messenger coming from the capital itself, telling them that the Queen wanted to visit _them_, instead of them visiting her.

They had stopped their plans and had remained in their dwellings, awaiting the day that she would return to Imladris.

Then there was the fact that Lord Celeborn, husband of the Lady Galadriél, had left his own dwelling in East Lórien, and had come to spend the rest of his days with his grandsons Elladan and Elrohir in Imladris. Unfortunately for Errestor. Why was he unfortunate? Celeborn was, in many ways, similar to his wife. He _always_ had something to say about the deteriorating condition of Imladris, and the improper care that its 'second-in-command' was giving it.

If that wasn't a hint saying '_I can run this place better than you or my son in law can and could, so let me do it,' _Errestor didn't know what it was. He guessed that Celeborn had come to his grandsons out of loneliness, living in the woods without his wife, Galadriél. In fact, Errestor was beginning to wonder whether what Glorfindel had been saying about the pair was indeed true. Glorfindel had always said that Galadriél probably ill-treated Celeborn, forcing him to do what she wanted him to do, and not allowing him to do what _he _wanted.

Well, fine, Glorfindel's opinion was that Galadriél hung Celeborn from the tops of trees until he agreed to do what she told him to, and that she whipped him when he continued to be so stubborn. Her last resort, apparently, was to drag him, face down, through the forests.

That was _slightly_ exaggerated on Glorfindel's part, he had to admit.

His mood was worsened even more when he noticed the empty shelves of the wine cupboard. That wasn't possible … the last time he had checked, there were at least 12 bottles left … He scowled. He had been hoping to sit down in the library with a thick book in his hands and a goblet of wine by his side, and read to his desire.

He was brought out of his thoughts rather rudely, when he heard the shouting going on outside in the corridors, doing nothing to improve his mood as he hated loud noises.

He was about to leave, when he saw a note lying limp on one of the shelves. Leaning forward, he took it. His eyes widened slightly as he read what was written on it.

It said; '_Wine isn't good for you, Restor, so I dealt with it. Enjoy your 'wine-less' life in Imladris! And don't forget us! Love from, Glorfindel the Great.'_

That accursed elf had either, for some unknown reason, taken the wine with him to Tirion, or had disposed of it – heaven forbid. They were 12 of the best bottles of wine too…

"RESTOR!!!"

"RESTOR!!! WHERE ARE YOU???"

"**RESTOR!!!"** Errestor strode out of the now almost empty kitchens, a scowl on his face. Would those two _never_ learn to keep quiet?

"What?" he asked, as he spotted the two brothers running around like madmen. They stopped immediately.

"You won't _believe_ the good news!" said Elladan.

"What go – "

"It's – it's _amazing_!" said Elrohir.

"What's ama – "

"The worry in my heart has faded for a while!" said Elladan.

"Why has it – "

"We _have_ to go now!" said Elrohir.

"Will you two _shut up_ and either tell me about this 'news' or go away and leave me alone?" asked Errestor, grouchily.

"Arwen – our sister – " started Elrohir.

"_Really_?" asked Errestor, sarcastically.

" – Arwen is – "

" – here!" finished Elladan. _That_ was enough to surprise Errestor – pleasantly. He stared at the twins, trying to fathom whether or not they were joking about it. He wouldn't put it past them to be lying.

" … If this is all a lie, I swear upon the Valar that even _Manw_ will not be able to save you …" he said at last.

"Restor! This is Arwen we're talking about!" said Elladan. "Would we lie to you about her?" Errestor guessed they were telling the truth.

"Where – " He was cut off when another elf – one of the last few inhabitants of Imladris – ran towards them.

"The King and Queen of Gondor are here!" he said, panting slightly. Elladan and Elrohir stared at Errestor, giving him an 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Very well," said Errestor. "Gather whatever elves you may and start preparing the rooms."

"Yes, sir."

"And spare a few of them to send to the kitchens. They must be weary."

"Yes sir," said the elf, turning around.

"Oh – and … do not touch Lord Glorfindel's or Lord Elrond's rooms …" said Errestor, thoughtfully. Elladan and Elrohir stared at him, surprised. Errestor shrugged. "I just thought … that we should leave them the way they were …"

"Good thinking!" said Elladan. "Come on Hir, let's go welcome her!"

"Sure thing," said Elrohir, grinning in joy. "Restor? Aren't you coming?" Errestor nodded slowly.

"In a while. I'll see to something and be there," he said, politely declining the offer. He knew that the siblings would want to be alone with each other for a while. "And do not forget to take Lord Celeborn with you …"

"Ve mer elyë," said Elladan, as the twins strode hurriedly down the corridor. (As you wish)

**A few moments later:**

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Arwen stopped her horse gently, and turned her head around her, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes widened … in horror or in happiness, Elessar could not tell. He didn't see anything that Arwen would be horrified about … true, the gardens and forests surrounding Imladris _were_ looking a little old … but that was it.

Arwen, however, could see more than he could, even though she was now mortal. The grace of the elves hadn't left her _completely_. She sensed the heavy atmosphere of sadness surrounding the once peaceful and comforting refuge. Everything around her – the plants, the flowers, the ground – spoke of weariness and loneliness.

They spoke of happier times that they had witnessed, when the refuge had been brimming with cheerfulness and with Elves.

_Was this choice of the Elves … this bad? To have saddened even the plants around it? To have such consequences on all living things left behind?_

"Evenstar?" called Elessar, snapping her out of her thoughts. Arwen turned towards him, smiling.

"Yes?" she asked. Elessar said nothing, though he continued to gaze at her for sometime. He opened his mouth to say something, but never got the chance to. It was at that moment that two familiar voices called out his wife's name, their voices ringing with joy.

"Arwen!" Arwen looked towards the main entrance to the refuge of Imladris, without needing to see them to know who they were. The black haired twins came into her sight, big smiles on their faces. For some reason, she found her eyes prickling with warm tears. Elessar gently took the child in her hands into his own, knowing what this 'family reunion' meant to her.

Flashing him a quick grateful smile, Arwen leaped gracefully off her horse, well aware that the guards that they had come with were watching everything closely.

In a few moments, she had thrown herself, rather childishly, on her older brothers, a few tears streaming down her face. Elladan and Elrohir hugged her tight, happy as well. They had not gone to visit her for close to 5 years … as they had thought that she didn't need any reminding of them to add to the slight sadness she was probably feeling.

Elessar found himself smiling as he watched the reunion, as he too got off his horse, ready to greet his own 'brothers.' Arwen, stepping away from the twins, found her attention robbed by an elf approaching them. He was robed in robes of bluish grey, and his hair was as white as it had been since his young days. His blue eyes were smiling at her, although she caught a glimpse of sadness in them.

She moved away from her brothers and stood before him.

"Undómiel …" said Celeborn, embracing her.

"Grandfather …" said Arwen, sighing. Celeborn let go of her and turned to Elessar, who had been receiving claps on the back from Elladan and Elrohir, his 'brothers.' He joined his grandsons as he too clapped him on the back.

"It is good to have you back amongst us … Estel …" he said. Elessar smiled at him.

"And it is good to be back in the place I was brought up in, Lord Celeborn …" he said. Arwen was now looking all around her, a small frown on her face.

"What's wrong?" asked Celeborn.

"Res – " Arwen stopped as she saw him there. She didn't know where he had suddenly appeared from. "Restor!" she exclaimed, hugging him as she knew that he would never hug her – being the awkward, serious type of person he was. Errestor patted her head slowly before she moved away from him.

A quick scan of her face told him that she was happy … although there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes. He guessed she had got that when she came back to Imladris, and read the signs of the trees, flowers and ground, for she still had the grace of the Elves.

"It is good to have you back, Undómiel," he said, smiling at her.

"I know," she said. "I bet you guys missed me!" She walked up to Elessar and placed a hand on the bundle he was holding in his arms. "Elladan, Elrohir, Grandfather, Errestor … meet our son, Eldarion …"

All the elves moved forward to get a look at the boy. Elladan and Elrohir smiled. They had seen Arwen like that, when she was born. Celeborn smiled as he touched the child's head. Errestor, to the twins' surprise, was standing a little distance apart from them.

Exchanging glances, they moved towards him and pushed him closer to Elessar so that he could see the child. At Celeborn's touch, Eldarion opened his eyes, to reveal startling grey orbs, similar to his mother's. Arwen smiled as she saw their joy.

"I hate to interrupt this," said Errestor, slowly. "But we should all go inside … it is getting quite cold, and I am sure that you are weary …" Elessar nodded.

"Good idea," he said, walking forward with Arwen. "Oh – Errestor … the peo – " Errestor smiled at the human he had helped raise, with Glorfindel and Elrond. He knew that Estel was trying to tell him that there were other Lords and Ladies with them, apart from the King and Queen of Gondor.

"I have always welcomed people to Imladris, and I know who people are," he said. Smiling in relief, Elessar walked away. Errestor turned back to the guards of the King and Queen, and to the Prince of Ithilien and his wife. "My Lord, Faramir, my lady Éowyn, welcome to Imladris, the Elven refuge," he said, pleasantly. Faramir and Éowyn got off their horses, and nodded their greetings at him.

"It is an honour to be here, Lord Errestor," said Faramir. Errestor smiled. Indeed.

"I do hope that our presence here will not trouble you," added Éowyn, looking around and the trees and plants in amazement. Edoras, the Capital of Rohan, never had anything like this. Then again, Edoras was a kingdom of Mortal Men … not of Elves. Errestor shook his head, smiling at her.

"It does not trouble us at all. Now, you must all be weary after your long journey," said Errestor, addressing the guards and the nobles. "Make your way inside – all of you – and leave your horses. The Elves will see to them."

With that, he waited by the entrance, nodding and smiling as everyone passed by. After what seemed like … quite a long time, he turned around to ask someone to tend to the horses.

He had only taken a few steps forward, when the sound of approaching hooves reached his ears. He looked up and turned around, surprised. None of the horses in front of him were moving … Then where were the –

His eyes widened in complete surprise as he saw the lone rider make his way to him. His horse stumbled wearily as it stopped, and he jumped off it, weakly.

Errestor stared at the elf, his eyes traveling to the red coloured stain that stained his shoulder and his right arm. The elf looked up and caught sight of him. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

"L – Lord E – Errestor …" he stammered. Errestor moved towards him as he stumbled, unable to hold himself up.

"What is the matter?" he asked, steadying him.

"E – East L – Lórien … Lord – Lord Celeborn – " the elf paused, breathing heavily. "The – Elves – we are – " Errestor frowned slightly, dread rising in his stomach.

"What is happening in East Lórien?" he asked, dreading the answer. He didn't need the gift of foresight to guess what was happening there.

"Orcs – O – Orcs ar – " That was all that the elf could manage, as his form went limp. Errestor stared at his limp form, his eyes troubled.

He guessed that Orcs were attacking the kingdom. He also guessed that the messenger probably came for help. And he _knew_ that the messenger needed rest. Dragging the unconscious elf with him, he walked inside the refuge, dread continuing to rise up inside him.

They needed to send aid to the elves of East Lórien – the elves of Celeborn's kingdom … How was he supposed to tell them this news when everyone was happy?

Then again, why were the Orcs attacking _now_? After eight years of silence … why were they attacking now? Errestor paled as a thought entered his mind.

Had … had they found a strong force, similar to Sauron, to back them up?

**Author's Note:**

That was … a bit long, wasn't it? I hope it was worth it … I will be including the hobbits in this as well, although I wasn't planning on doing so at first. Then again, they _are_ a part of Middle-Earth, so I thought I should.

Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and that it interested you!

See you soon!

Siriusgirl1


	4. A Surprise Attack

**Disclaimer:**

I own nothing, as you probably know. It all belongs to JRR Tolkien, so please don't sue me.

**Author's Note:**

I would like to thank these people for their reviews:

Tyrian Woodrose – Thanks. Really? Oops, I'm sorry. I'll change his name right away! Hope you like this chapter.

Lady Pescados – Gosh, thanks! If that wasn't too long, then perhaps this might be? Hope you like this one! And yes, Sirius and Remus are cool! Yeah, that bit was funny. I also like the part when Fred and George call themselves 'Gred and Forge.' That struck me as being funny! Thanks for your reviews!

daughter-of-sunlight – Thanks for your reviews! I hope this one satisfies you too! Yes, I did want the whole idea to be to switch from place to place, although that will stop after some time. I just checked it up, and his name _is_ Erestor … oops …

Well, here's chapter four. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope I haven't spoilt the story so far. Oh, and I made Arwen sad about her father's departure, because … well, it says that she was really close to him, and no matter how happy she is with Aragorn (and I'm sure she is) I'm sure she also misses her father … who wouldn't?

Reviews are most welcome once again!

Enjoy.

**Chapter Four: Surprise Attack**

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The atmosphere surrounding Imladris, or Rivendell as it was known amongst Men that evening was a mixture of one of tension … and sadness. Elves and Men walked down corridors, talking to each other about the news they had just heard.

In Erestor's office, however, the atmosphere was the heaviest with tension. Seated in front of Erestor, were Elessar, Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn. _Standing_ in front of Erestor, were Celeborn, Elladan and Elrohir.

"How is the elf?" asked Elrohir, breaking the silence that had settled in the office.

"He is getting better," said Elladan, as he had been the one that had tended to the injured messenger from East Lórien. Celeborn glared at Erestor.

"I do not care what you have to say, Erestor," he said. "I _have_ to go …" Erestor fought the urge to slam his head, _hard_, against the wooden surface of his table. Why couldn't people just try and understand what he had to _say_, before launching themselves into battle?

"I am not asking you to stay away from going to your peoples' aid," he said, controlling his voice. "I am only asking that you listen to what I have to sa – "

"Why are the Orcs attacking _now_?" asked Elessar, interrupting Erestor. "After all these years of peace and silence, why are they moving out now?"

"_That_ is what I have been trying to get through to you _all_," said Erestor, gritting his teeth. "Who knows whether this is a trap? Who knows whether the Orcs are merely waiting for aid to come from Imladris?"

"If they are, then it is their own folly," said Celeborn. "I _must_ go to the aid of my people Erestor. Whether you like it or not." The look on Erestor's face was one of pure frustration. As it was, he was trembling slightly – with rage, no doubt.

"Grandfather, perhaps we should all _listen_ to what Restor is trying to say – without interrupting him – and _then_ make our plans," suggested Arwen, quietly. Erestor shot her a grateful smile. At least _someone_ was helping. Celeborn nodded warily at Errestor to continue, a small frown nonetheless remaining on his face.

"It would not be sensible, Lord Celeborn, to send _all_ the elves that we have with us here to aid the elves of East Lórien," said Erestor, his face grave. "If Imladris was to be attacked, then who will defend it? I hardly think that I will be able to defend it by myself." He paused, taking a deep breath. Counseling Elrond hadn't been _this_ bad. "And yet, if we do not send a large force to East Lórien, it will be completely overcome."

"It has probably _already_ been overcome," muttered Celeborn.

"Grandfather, it is not Restor's fault," said Elladan, soothingly. "The messenger only came this afternoon."

"In any case, we cannot set out today," continued Elrohir. "We will need to set out tomorrow, with haste, _after_ coming up with a plan."

"And there are not enough Elves in Imladris to form an army in the first place," added Elessar. Celeborn listened to them, the frown on his face increasing.

"Then what do you three _masterminds_ suggest that we do?" he asked at last. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances with Elessar and Faramir, who nodded slowly.

"Elrohir and I will join whatever force that is heading towards East Lórien," said Elladan. "And Estel and Faramir are willing to come with us." Arwen looked sharply at her husband, just as Éowyn glanced at _her_ husband. "If, of course, their ladies permit it …" added Elladan, hurriedly, as Arwen glared at him. Elessar laughed, as Faramir smiled.

"I will come," he said.

"And so will I," said Faramir, nodding.

"Do you think that three elves and two Men can battle the Orcs that are attacking the woods?" asked Celeborn. "If that was possible, would the elves _need_ our help in the first place?"

"Ah, _that_ is where you are mistaken, grandfather," said Elladan.

"Oh? And how is that?" asked Celeborn.

"The elves of East Lórien … didn't have three elves called Elladan, Elrohir and Celeborn … _or_ two Men called Estel and Faramir …" said Elrohir, his eyes twinkling. Erestor would have groaned aloud, if he didn't know that respectable elves did not make such sounds. To him, it seemed as though the twins were _happy_ … that they would be able to fight Orcs again, like they had done countless times before in revenge for what they did to their mother, Celebrian.

"Very well, but, as Lord Celeborn said, what can five beings do against a lot of Orcs?" he asked.

"We _could_ take the guards that came with us, can we not your majesty?" asked Faramir, looking at Elessar. He nodded.

"Yes," he said. "That will make about … 17 people, including ourselves." Celeborn nodded.

"That sounds reasonable …" he said.

"I can help as well," said Éowyn, suddenly. All eyes turned to her. Faramir shook his head slowly.

"No Éowyn," he said. "You must not."

"Women cannot fight," added Celeborn, resisting the urge to say '_especially mortal women.'_ He had a feeling that that wouldn't do much to please the Princess of Ithilien.

"Faramir is right Éowyn," said Elessar, shaking his head. "You cannot fight … it is best for you to stay here, safely." Éowyn's eyes narrowed.

"Are you saying, your majesty," she asked. "That I am not capable of helping you? In battle?"

"Nay, I am merely saying that it is safer for you to – "

"And I supposed that it was _safe_ for me to fight and _defeat _the Witch King of Angmar?" interrupted Éowyn. Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other, their eyebrows raised. They hadn't known about _that_ … no one had told them that _she_ had slain the Witch King. They moved from their places leaning against the wall.

"Lady Éowyn," said Elladan, smiling at her. "I do not doubt your fighting abilities … yet it is not necessary for you to show them to us _now_ …"

"There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to show us your abilities," continued Elrohir. "So, till that time comes, you should remain behind …"

"And, if _that_ does not please you," added Faramir. "You should keep Arwen company …" He knew that the bond of friendship that had formed in between his wife and Arwen was very strong, and that each would look after the other, like siblings. Éowyn looked at her lap, her brows still knitted together in a semi frown.

Elessar heaved a sigh of relief. He had thought that they would have to resort to desperate measures, such as tying her to a chair or something. Elladan and Elrohir smiled at her. She _did_ have a strong fighting spirit. Although she _didn't_ look like a fearsome warrior, with her golden hair and blue eyes … she looked more like a 'prim and proper' princess.

"Come then, let us get ready," said Elrohir, smiling grimly as he and Elladan walked out of the office.

"Yes, lets," agreed Elessar, standing up. Faramir followed him and Celeborn out of the office. Erestor sighed as the five of them left. He did not know what the outcome of this 'battle' would be … but that did not worry him. He knew that they were capable warriors, and that they could handle anything.

What was bothering him was the sudden movement of the Orcs. He shook his head slightly and turned to the ladies, only to find them glaring at him.

"W – What?" he asked surprised.

"You're just going to _let_ them?" asked Arwen.

"Let them what?" asked Erestor.

"Go into battle?"

"Arwen, they are not infants," he said. "They are adults now, and can handle many situations."

"But – "

"He is right, Arwen," said Éowyn. "Besides, it is good for them to let out a little steam once in a while in this form …" Arwen sighed.

"But … "

"The only thing I want to ask is why _I_ can't go," said Éowyn. Erestor shook his head vehemently.

"We don't send women and children to fight," he said.

"I am no child," said Éowyn. Erestor nodded, mentally kicking himself. How very _diplomatic_ of him to say that …

"Aye, you are not," he said. "Besides, we need someone to help secure Imladris …" Éowyn knew that he was just trying to appease her. Why didn't these Elves understand that the ladies of Rohan were ready to fight at anytime, unlike other women?

"If I may take my leave, Arwen, Éowyn," said Erestor, standing up, his face grim.

"Where are you going?" asked Arwen.

"I have to see for the preparations … it has always been my job to see to these things," said Erestor, smiling at them once more before walking out of the office. Arwen and Éowyn sat where they were, lost in their different thoughts.

"Éowyn, shall I show you around Imladris?" asked Arwen, suddenly. Éowyn nodded, looking happier.

"I would like that very much," she said. They stood up.

"We'll go and get Eldarion from the maids, and then get going," said Arwen, as they too walked out of the office.

**Meanwhile:**

"Why are you making such haste, lad? Is it not too fast? The speed of this horse?" asked Gimli, as he clung onto Legolas for dear life. Legolas shook his head.

"Are you _scared_, Master Dwarf?" he asked.

"Scared? _Scared_?" echoed Gimli. "Yes, I _am_ scared on the back of a horse that is moving as though his life depended on it."

"Who knows, the situation might be what you say it is," whispered Legolas, more to himself than to Gimli. "And, in any case, horses don't just _move_, they _gallop_."

"I _don't_ care!" retorted Gimli. "Dwarves _weren't_ built to ride horses!" Legolas sighed, looking around the bare land that was ahead of them. Something was wrong … he could feel it in his veins. They had left Ithilien five days after Elessar, Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn had left, heading for Imladris. He had been told to come there, once he had finished his work. A cool breeze blew across the bare lands.

The plan had been to meet up with the remaining elves in Imladris, and then head for the shire. There, the six remaining members of the Fellowship would be reunited, and could enjoy themselves, talking about the 'old times.' The Hobbits, of course, knew nothing of this plan. They were planning on surprising them.

Riding with a company of twelve other elves, who had wished to visit Imladris once more and five dwarves, riding at great speed, Legolas and the rest of the party had departed from Edoras the day before, and they were now riding at great haste, to make it to Imladris. Six of the elves, including him, had a dwarf sharing their horse with them. Dwarves _were_ scared of riding …

Why? Legolas and the other elves sensed something was drawing near. Legolas, especially, could sense it. Something about the bare stretch of land ahead of him made him feel uneasy.

He hadn't felt this way for sometime now … and this didn't please him in the least. They were riding through the Dunlands now, taking path Ithilien to Edoras, through the Dunlands, through Eregion, and finally to Rivendell. Elessar and the others had probably taken an alternative path, as Legolas couldn't find any trace of their travel anywhere.

"Something is lurking nearby Lord Legolas," said an elf called Dínlos, slowing his horse slightly. Legolas nodded as he looked around again, his keen eyes scanning in vain for any sign that would tell him what was going on.

"What is it?" asked Gimli. "What is it? Do you see something? Is it an enemy? Let them come then!" Legolas smiled resignedly.

"You sound pleased at the thought of it being an enemy," he said.

"Of course! I haven't killed someone in … in eight years!" said Gimli. Dínlos laughed.

"Then let us hope that you do not kill one of us, to appease the hunger for death," he said. As Gimli opened his mouth to answer, Arod, the horse he and Legolas were riding, stopped galloping. The elves stopped as one, alert. The darkening sky made it difficult to spot anything. Looking to his right, where the mountains separating Fangorn Forest from the Dunlands, Legolas saw the reason for Arod's uneasiness … as well as his own.

"Do not move, or look around," he said, softly. His men listened to him, confused. "Hiding in the mountains to our right, are many Orcs … around 25 from what I can see …"

"Orcs?" asked Dínlos. "Here? Now?"

"Let them come!" said Gimli, reaching for his axe that was strapped on to his back. The other dwarves did the same.

"No Gimli!" said Legolas, sharply. "We must not let them know that we have spotted them."

"Why not?" asked Gimli.

"They'll kill us whether or not we move," added Morras, a somewhat sinister looking dwarf Gimli had brought with him.

"We must find out what they are doing here, before we kill them," said Legolas, his fair face troubled. "Is it not unusual for them to be making a move, or showing themselves after eight years of silence?"

"This, on one hand, is good news," said Camdín, an elf that was originally from Mirkwood, who was especially skilled with the spear. "We have at least realized that we should not take the Orcs' quietness for granted …"

"But that – "

"And it is bad news, as it makes you wonder _why_ they're attacking _now_ …" said Camdín, interrupting Gimli. Dínlos nodded.

"You are right," he said. "Lord Legolas?" Legolas seemed to be facing forward, scanning the bare land ahead of him, but in truth, his eyes, out of the corner of their sockets, were watching the Orcs. He frowned. They were beginning to move out of their hiding places.

Why were they doing that? He had thought that they were perhaps afraid to face thirteen elves and six dwarves in battle. Why had they suddenly gathered their courage to –

His face paled. He knew why. Before he heard the other host of Orcs heading towards them from behind, he guessed what was going to happen.

"Lord Legolas? What do we do now?"

"Easy," said Gimli, surprisingly jumping off Arod and drawing his axe. "We _fight_." Legolas sighed. Gimli was right … they _had_ to fight … but they wouldn't be able to find out the Orcs purpose …

"Legolas?" asked Camdín. "If you _want_ to reach Rivendell alive … I suggest you get off that horse and get ready." Legolas nodded, jumping lightly off his horse and joining the dwarves and other elves. The Elves sent their horses away, until the battle was over and they could call them back.

It began in the blink of an eye. The Orcs attacked from two places – from the front, and from the mountains. Legolas ducked as an Orc arrow whizzed towards his head. The Orc growled in rage and began to fit another arrow into his bow, when an elvish arrow from Legolas went through his chest. He looked down at the arrow going through his body bemused almost as though it was asking itself '_now where did **this** come from_?' before it fell down, dead.

Camdín ran his spear through three Orcs, who, rather stupidly, came to attack him one after the other. He yanked his spear out of them, looking at their dead bodies in disgust. And to think that they had once been elves, tortured by Melkor … His attention was diverted when he saw Dínlos struggling to fight two Orcs, _whilst_ keeping two others from shooting arrows at him. He dived in front of him and killed off the Orcs with the bows and arrows.

Dínlos did the rest, cutting of the other two creatures' heads with his sword. "Thanks …" he said, breathing heavily.

"Anytime," said Camdín, grinning.

"Take _that_!" cried Gimli, hewing an Orc almost in half. "And _that_! And _that_!" he said to two other Orcs.

"I regret to inform you that Orcs do not understand anything we say, so it is best to not waste our energy by talking to them," said Legolas, shooting continuously at the Orcs that were still fighting with everyone.

"It was worth a try," said Gimli, shrugging. "And _you_, take _this_!"

Morras looked at the corpses of dead Orcs lying lifeless around him, before looking back at the others. There were still a reasonable amount of Orcs left to finish off …

Grinning at the _happy_ thought of fighting after a long time, he threw himself into the path of a group of seven, running Orcs. His axe sang in delight as he fought on, under the gradually darkening sky.

**In Rivendell:**

Arwen glanced at the empty spot on the bed beside her. Elessar still hadn't come to sleep. She knew, that before any major battle, warriors _needed_ to have a council together, going over battle plans … but _still_ … this was taking it too far. It was already quite late in the night. Glancing to her right, she saw Eldarion sleeping peacefully beside her, his head resting on her pillow, and his thumb in his mouth.

A tuft of jet black hair was slowly growing on his head … showing his strong resemblance to his mother. She stroked his head affectionately, once again wondered … what her family would have had to say about him …

She sighed. She got off the bed gently, so as not to wake Eldarion up, and, taking two extra pillows from the cupboard on her left, she placed them around her son, incase he tried to move and fell off the bed. Making sure he was comfortable and safe, she walked out of her room. The corridors were dimly lit by lanterns, holding fading candles in them, and cast somewhat eerie shadows down the corridors.

Looking to her right, she saw that no one was there. Looking back once more at Eldarion, she moved in the opposite direction, slowly. It would not do if someone were to see her …

She stopped outside her destination, an apprehensive expression on her face. The office was dark and the only light entering it was the starlight that entered the office through the open windows and archways. Taking two candles from a lantern nearby, she entered the room and headed straight for the lantern that was on her left. Placing one candle there, and the other one on another lantern, she stepped away, allowing a _little_ more light to enter the room.

The office looked the same as it did when its user had been there … the bookshelves were full of books, arranged neatly, and kept in good condition. The paintings and murals on the walls were also being preserved well. She moved towards the desk standing in the middle of the room. There was nothing on it, except for the paperweights, half empty bottles of ink, and two quills.

She moved behind the desk and pulled the chair out, sitting on it. She closed her eyes as memories of how he used to sit on the chair and keep her on his lap flooded her mind. She shook her head, opening her eyes. She spotted the drawers on the right side of the desk, and stretched an arm out to open them, before pausing.

She shouldn't look through his things … Even though he was gone it wasn't nice to look through his things.

Looking ahead of her, she saw the arch shaped window, through which she could see small stars twinkling. Looking to her right, another similar shaped window showed a very bright star, glimmering in the dark skies.

Ëarendil … that was her grandfather, from her father's side, sailing the skies on his ship Vingilot … guarding the skies against darkness. As she gazed through the window, she saw the face of a dark haired elf. His deep blue eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. A circlet of gold, with a single red stone surrounded his head.

She stared at the 'image' in the skies, wanting it to stay there for ever. "… Ada …" she whispered softly. The elf smiled at her, his eyes twinkling more. She half smiled at it too. "Ada … I hope you are well …" The 'face' still continued to smile at her. Her smile faltered slightly. "Ada, you probably know this … but I have a son … Eldarion we called him … and I think … I think he will look like me when he is older …"

Erestor stopped by the door, a stricken expression on his face as he listened. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but he had seen the light in Elrond's office as he walked down the corridor to his own chambers, and had peeked inside to see who it was.

He had spotted Arwen … talking to … talking to Elrond …

He guessed that, even though she loved Estel, a father was someone that never came again to the world. When her mother had left to the Undying Lands, Arwen hadn't been _this_ sad, although that was mainly because she thought that she had to be strong for her father's sake …

And now …

"Are … are you happy, Ada? About Eldarion?" asked Arwen, smiling at the face she 'saw' in the sky. "Estel is very happy … I think he has always been waiting for the day he would become a father …" her smile widened. "And Elladan and Elrohir, they said that they cannot wait to teach him to play jokes on people and – "

Arwen broke off as she saw the face shimmer suddenly. A feeling of despair hit her from nowhere as she saw the face begin to fade. "Ada! Ada no – don't leave! Ada please – " She rushed to the wide window. " – Don't leave me … Ada …" She stared despairingly at the dark night sky, with Ëarendil twinkling brightly in it.

Her 'father' was nowhere in sight. Arwen sank slowly to her knees, as she felt a lump rise in her throat. For the first time since she had made her choice to forsake her immortality, leaning her head against the low window sill, she cried freely into the silent night.

Erestor watched her cry, her quiet sobs reaching his ears. He sighed, slightly confused. Did she … _regret_ her choice? He shook his head hurriedly. No, that couldn't be. She had always wanted to remain with Elessar …

He looked at her trembling figure once more, before lowering his head. There was nothing he could do here … she needed to be on her own for now … His face saddened, he turned around and walked quietly away, quenching the light of the two candles at the doorway with his hand, so that, if Elessar were to pass this way, he would not see her crying and get emotionally hurt about it.

His head heavy with thoughts about the battle, for which he had made preparations for seven of the thirteen other elves in Imladris to join, and with thoughts about the possibility and cause of Arwen's grief, he walked away heading for his chambers.

"Sérë olá, Arwen …" (_Peaceful dreams)_

**Meanwhile, in the Dunlands:**

"Legolas!"

" – Yes?"

"How many more _are_ there?"

" … Around twelve, Camdín – "

"Legolas? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Since you elves seem to think of _everything_ couldn't you have brought along some torches?"

"Since you dwarves seem to do your work in the _dark_, should you not be used to it?"

"I am beginning to lose my patience …"

"Patience, Morras, this will be over soon." Legolas ducked as a particularly ugly Orc made a sweep at his head with his sword. "Please refrain from doing that … at least ten of your companions have tried that, but my head is _still_ attached to my head," he said, slicing the Orc's head off its neck neatly with his two elvish blades. He had, as was expected, run out of arrows to use, and had resorted to his twin blades.

"It is quite dark, isn't it?"

"_Really_? I wouldn't have known, Dínlos."

"I was just trying to lighten things up."

" – Dínlos? – "

"Yes?"

"Do us a favour, and never try to _lighten things up_ in the middle of a battle again, okay?"

" … Fine." Dínlos stabbed an Orc in the chest before drawing his sword out of it and slicing it in half. He felt a warm liquid spray all over him, and shuddered. He hated to see what he would look like. Well, he would get the chance, when the sun rose. And it would help _greatly_ if it rose now.

"Gimli?"

" – Take _this!_ Yes?"

"You _are_ killing Orcs, and not elves, right?"

" – Take _that! _And _that_! Ooh … you _stubborn _creature … take **this**!" Legolas sighed as he wiped his face with his hand and grimaced as he felt a warm liquid on his face. Great, he had Orc blood smeared across his face. This battle, despite what he had told Morras, was beginning to make him lose _his_ patience. The starlight was the only light that allowed them to see their enemies with, and even then, it was a small amount of starlight. It was a good thing that dwarves were generally _fatter_ than Orcs, or a few dwarves might have accidentally been killed.

Camdín killed the last Orc that was heading towards him and looked around. The other elves were nearby, looking around as well, along with the dwarves. He saw Legolas still fighting with two Orcs.

"Legolas, you need any help?"

"No - thanks … is this all?"

"Yes." Legolas killed one of the Orcs and turned to the last one who made a move for his head again. Knocking the sword out of the creature's hand, Legolas grabbed it by the neck and pressed his sword against it, looking at what he thought was the creature's black face and trying to take no notice of its putrid stench. The Orc writhed, trying to escape his grasp.

"Tell me, why did you attack us?" asked Legolas, a dangerous edge entering his voice. The Orc said nothing, causing Legolas to dig his sword deeper into the thing's neck. It writhed in pain. "Answer me!"

" – We don't … like you Elves …" said the Orc hoarsely. Legolas tightened his grip on his neck.

"That wasn't a proper reason," he said. "Why attack now, after all these years? Ever since your master was killed you 'disappeared.' Why make an appearance again?" The Orc sneered at him in the dark, somewhat infuriating the blond elf.

"M – Master?" it sneered. "He wasn't … our – _real_ master … our real master is returning … and we will serve **him**." With that, he thrust his neck forward, towards the blade that was already digging into it. He died immediately. Legolas dropped him on the ground, a troubled expression on his face.

Sauron wasn't their … _real_ master?

Their _real_ master … was returning?

"Finally, I thought this would never come to an end."

"Hey! That's my foot you're sitting on Morras!"

"Sorry Dínlos – it _is_ Dínlos right?" Camdín caught sight of Legolas' tense posture, and walked up to the son of his King.

"Something wrong, Legolas?" he asked. Legolas shook his head slowly, though, if there had been more light, Camdín would have seen his troubled blue eyes.

"No …" he said, after a while. "Come, let us gather our horses and move away from here and come back tomorrow morning and dispose of these corpses …"

"As you wish," said Camdín.

"Is everyone okay? Is anyone injured?" asked Legolas, walking around.

"We're fine," said Morras. "Just one or two injuries – not life threatening."

"What _I_ want to know is why they attacked us …" said Dínlos. Camdín, who was staring after Legolas, saw the young Prince stiffen, and he glared in Dínlos' direction.

"Will you _stop_ talking if you cannot say anything that will help, Dínlos?" he asked.

"Fine," said Dínlos, rather hurt.

"Enough dawdling," said Legolas. "Let us get our horses and set up camp away from here …" The elves and dwarves moved away, with the elves whistling in the night, calling their horses back to them.

That night, from his spot seated with his back against a boulder of rock, Legolas' mind was not at ease. The more he thought of what the Orc said, the more it troubled him.

Who was the Orc talking about when he said 'his real master' was returning? Especially if he wasn't referring to Sauron.

The thought struck him hard. Could it have been referring to the one that _created_ them? His blue eyes gazed at Ëarendil, troubled. If it was indeed the one that created them … then it would have to be …

… The one that had dwelt in the Pits of Utumno and later in the Fortresses of Angband.

And he knew that _that_ guy … wasn't very _nice_.

**Author's note:**

Well???????

Was it interesting? I realized that I had put the genre for this story as '_action/adventure/humour'_ and that this didn't have much 'action' in it, so I included the battle, together with a _slight_ bit of humour. I hope it worked.

Anyway, see you next time. I would love to hear any suggestions (criticisms, opinions, advice) as long as it is nothing _cruel_ or _harsh_. J

Till next time

Siriusgirl1


	5. Arrival

**Disclaimer:**

As I have been saying over and over again, it's all JRR Tolkien's … not mine.

**Author's Note:**

Chapter five … phew, I never thought I'd make it so far! Thanks for all the reviews once again! I was beginning to wonder whether this was going _anywhere_ …

Firstly, thanks to the following people:

Daughter-of-sunlight: I know what you mean about Legolas 'never running out of arrows.' There _is_ after all a reason why he carries around two swords as well, right? Heh. Thanks a lot for your review. I know the bit about Arwen was sad, but it's because she misses her father, but is reluctant to tell anyone about it, in case they think she's unhappy with Aragorn. She'll be alright soon, though. And I _did_ wanted to make it funny with Gimli talking to the Orcs. I'm glad it worked too. Gimli seems the type that'll never be dampened in spirit, especially in a battle. Hope you enjoy this!

Tyrian Woodrose: Thanks a lot for your review! Hope you love this chapter too! And once again, thanks for telling me about the spelling of Erestor's name.

Mandos is the name of the dwelling in which Námo of the Fëantúri live in, although _he_ is also referred to as 'Mandos' as well. I know I should probably use his _real_ name of 'Námo' in this story, but somehow, I think 'Mandos' sounds better. In any case, you'll probably come across both names, so forgive me, as I rage war with myself to settle on one name. (I honestly like Mandos better, though) The same thing goes for Mandos/Námo's brother, Lorien/Irmo.

**Chapter Five: Arrival**

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Manwë, High King of the Valar, was seated on the grass, his face peaceful, quite the opposite to the turmoil his mind was in. Beside him sat Varda Elentári, the High Queen of the Valar, and around them sat the other Valar, Irmo, Nienna, Tulkas, Oromë, Yavanna, Aulë, Estë and Vana. Before _them_ sat Melian the Maiar, her eyes closed as she concentrated on her song. Her voice seeped into the hearts of the mighty Valar, easing the worries in them little by little.

That was the power of Melian the Maiar. She had the most beautiful voice in the whole of the world – both in Valinor, and in Middle-Earth. It was she that had taught the nightingales their song and gave them their voices. And it was also she that was the mother of the fairest child of Ilúvatar, Luthien Tinúviel.

Melian sang of hope and of courage … mixed together with the element of happiness and peace, which Manwë thought to be quite ironic. If Darkness _were_ to rise again, the people of Middle-Earth would need all the elements Melian sang of in this song. Varda sighed beside him as her heart was robbed of its worries, the magic of Melian achieving its purpose.

Looking around his brethren, Manwë observed their faces. Some wore faces of contentment, whilst others wore faces of anxiety. Yavanna Kementari, queen of the Earth, wore a look of anxiety on her face, making Manwë wonder if they should _really_ be relaxing in Lórien, the gardens of Healing belonging to Irmo, or Lórien as he was called after the name of his dwelling.

The magic of Melian made its way into his heart, and he found himself relaxing … forgetting, for a while, the fears that plagued him …

The arrival of Mandos pulled him rather harshly out of his relaxation. At first, he was pleased to see Námo, the doomsman of the Valar (also called Mandos after _his_ dwelling). The rather young Valar, in terms of the rest of them, rarely left his Halls for relaxation.

"Námo … it is good to have you with us," he said, smiling at him. "Have a seat." He gestured to the grass they were sitting on. Melian did not stop her song, although she focused her eyes on Mandos. His face was pale – it was naturally pale, but to her it seemed to be paler than usual, and his light brown eyes looked troubled as he gazed at Manwë. She knew immediately that something was wrong, and put forth her magic on him, hoping to help him ease his troubles.

Mandos glanced around at the other Valar, wondering whether it was right to speak in front of them. "There is no time to relax," he said, simply, hoping Manwë would get his meaning.

It appeared that he did. Manwë was pulled out of his state of relaxation, and he stared at Mandos, his keen blue eyes unsure of what he was implying; had darkness risen again? Or had something else happened?

The other Valar did not miss the look of weariness that passed across Manw's face, and they looked on, surprised.

"Is something the matter, Manwë Súlimo?" asked Yavanna, turning her green eyes on him. Varda looked away, having a feeling she knew what Mandos was trying to say. She could only think; _I knew that this would happen._

"Why is there no time to relax?" asked Oromë, the Hunter. "Come, Námo, stand not like you are on the brink of death … sit down. And where is Vairë?" Mandos paid him no heed. Nienna the Weeper, his sister, however, rose from her place, her eyes closed in thought. Manwë observed all of this, before standing up himself. He looked at the other Valar who were still seated, and looking confused.

"Fear not, nothing is wrong," he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "I have some matters to discuss with Námo … and with Nienna. Rest where you are, we will return soon." With that, he walked away from them, with Mandos and Nienna following him.

"Elentári, do you not know what is going on?" asked Yavanna, turning to her friend. Varda shook her head.

"I do not," she said. Irmo stared after his siblings, a thoughtful expression on his face, before his wife, Estë laid her hand on his, breaking him from his reverie. He smiled at her before turning to the troubled group.

"Manwë told us not to worry, so we should do as he says," he said, lightly. "Come let us listen to Melian whose singing is not being appreciated." Nodding in silent agreement, the Valar turned back to Melian.

**Meanwhile:**

Manwë stood before Nienna and Námo, his face troubled. Seldom did anyone travel to the Halls of Nienna, which were in the far West of Valinor, and in which Nienna dwelt alone.

"Then … you are _certain_ that Ilúvatar knows of what we planned?" he asked, looking at Námo. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, just as she completed her re-incarnation," he said. Manwë stared at the siblings, his mind reeling.

"What did he say?" he asked, at last. Námo shivered slightly as the icy words of their Father repeated themselves in his head again. "Námo?"

"He said that he knows of our plans and that he _forbids_ us to carry on with them," said Námo slowly. "He said that he will take means to deal with the matter if we decide to go on with our plans."

"That does not give us much of a choice, does it?" asked Manwë, his mood turning into one of despair. "It was _he_ that suggested that the House of Fëanor should _never_ rest in peace until its curse is broken somehow … but how can the curse be broken if we do not let one the descendants of Fëanor out of the Halls of the Dead?"

"I know of no other way," admitted Námo.

"I would suggest that you continue with you plans," said Nienna suddenly. Manwë and Námo turned to face her, looking surprised.

"But if Ilúvatar asked us not to – " started Námo.

" – How can we possibly go against his wishes?" finished Manwë. Nienna opened her eyes and stared evenly at the two Valar in front of her.

"Our Father is planning something," she said, slowly. "What it is, I do not know, though I suspect that Námo knows of it, at least to some extent." Manwë turned to Mandos.

"Do you _know_ what he is planning?" he asked. Námo let out a long breath, which was highly unlike him. His light brown eyes looked troubled again as he spoke.

"I was against doing what you asked me to do about the spirit of Ëariel … due to the simple reason that I knew that Ilúvatar was planning on releasing the Dead Spirit of another, to aid the peoples of Middle-Earth in what will hopefully be their last battle." He paused. "As you know, it is not my place to tell anyone what our Father is doing, as my foresight and knowledge are gifts from him, so I tried everything to get you to change your mind, but you would not."

"Yet you did so because you knew that by releasing her spirit, the Curse on the House of Fëanor would be destroyed," finished Nienna. Námo nodded slowly.

"Yes, that _was_ my main purpose in doing this," he agreed. "For the spirit of Fëanor is burning with the desire to be released from my Halls. I cannot release him from my Halls as he will only gain more punishments, not only on the Noldor, but on all the Elves that Ilúvatar brought to being. The only way to appease him was to release the spirit of one of his line …"

"Námo, do you know _who_ it was that Ilúvatar was planning on releasing from your Halls?" asked Manwë, suddenly. Námo shook his head.

"No, for he hid the identity of the person from me," he said. "It was almost as if he was daring me to tell you and do something else." There was a short silence in the room.

"Listen to me, Manwë, Námo," said Nienna, her voice serious. "You _must_ continue with your plans, and release her spirit to Middle-Earth at once." Manwë shook his head.

"It is not sensible to go against his wishes, Nienna," he said. Nienna either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. He guessed it was the latter.

"Did you plan on sending her to Tirion first, to learn of the things that have happened in Middle-Earth recently?" she asked. Manwë nodded slowly.

"Yes, I did," he said.

"That cannot be done now … Ilúvatar will prevent that from taking place …" said Nienna, thoughtfully. "Your only option is to release her to Middle-Earth at once."

"Nienna, do you not understand what I have bee saying all this time?" asked Manwë.

"Nay, wait a moment, Manwë," said Námo, suddenly. "Finish what you were saying, sister." Nienna smiled at him.

"If you release her to Middle-Earth, desperate though he may be, Ilúvatar will not do anything to stop her," she said. "He knows that matters concerning Middle-Earth have nothing to do with him as Middle-Earth is under _our_ governance. Matters concerning Valinor, on the other hand, _do_ concern him." Námo was starting to understand what she was trying to say.

"You are correct," he said. "Yet can he not change her future?" Nienna nodded slowly.

"He can," she said. "Though … will it matter, as long as she lifts the curse off the House of Fëanor?" Námo said nothing. To him, that sounded harsh, using Ëariel to rid the curse on the Fëanorians, and then allowing Ilúvatar to do what he wished with her afterwards?

"What you say is reasonable, Nienna," said Manwë, after much thought. "Yet … is she ready to be released into Middle-Earth? And how can we achieve this without Ilúvatar noticing us?" Námo answered him.

"She has been completely re-incarnated," he said. "She will be ready to do the task that she was re-incarnated to do, although I will have to brief her in on her History, to aid her."

"Ilúvatar will not expect us to release her to Middle-Earth soon," added Nienna. "Therefore, if we release her immediately, he will be caught unawares." Manwë stared at the two siblings, his mind running around in circles.

"His wrath will be great when he finds out she is gone …" he said, at last.

"That is something we will have to face," said Námo.

"The worst that will be done is that Ëariel will be killed," said Nienna, comfortingly. Námo did not know why she thought that was comforting. It was far from it, and it did not please him in anyway, to have raised and re-incarnated this spirit only to find out that she had no _real_ use except to lift the curse off the House of Fëanor.

"You are right," said Manwë sighing, telling them that he was doing this against his better judgment. "Námo … can you release her now?"

"Not until I have taught her a few of her History lessons, Manwë," said Námo, shaking his head. "Nienna? Will you help me with that?" Nienna nodded at her eldest brother.

"I will be glad to," she said. Manwë nodded.

"Very well," he said. "Tell me when you are done … and if you have any inquiries as to what you _should_ tell her and what you _shouldn't_ tell her, do not consult me, do as you think is best. After all, you, Námo, have the gift of foresight." Námo nodded.

"Indeed."

"Let us go back to the gardens of Lórien," said Manwë, lightly. "For Irmo will not be pleased that I have taken his siblings away from him." He smiled warily at Námo. "Let us go by your Halls and take Vairë along with us …"

**In Middle-Earth:**

Faramir looked around him, warily. Something was amiss. He knew it at once. Looking towards Elessar, Celeborn and the twin sons of Elrond, he could tell that they felt the same too. They had made haste from Imladris, at Celeborn's bidding, and had reached the former dwelling of Celeborn and Galadriél three days later, without coming across any Orcs.

They had departed from there, speaking to the remaining remnant of Elves that had refused to leave for East Lórien, Celeborn's new Kingdom. None of them had seen any Orcs around, and they were unwilling to go into battle again, something which infuriated Celeborn, although he knew that he had no right to get so angry. It was their choice after all.

They headed towards the Southern part of the forest of Mirkwood, in which the realm of East Lórien was. Their aim was to enter from the rear, surprising the Orcs from there.

"We should split up," said Elladan, reining his horse around to face the rest of the party. "That is our best option. Half of us can attack from the front, and the other half from the rear."

"How are we to know whether trouble has befallen anyone?" asked Faramir. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances.

"Elrohir and I will separate ourselves," said Elladan. "That way, if something happens to someone on my half of the army, Elrohir will know." Faramir and the men of Gondor gaped at the twins. _How_ was _that_ possible?

"Being twins gives us a method of communication that normal siblings do not have," said Elrohir, smiling. "And do not worry, Grandfather, this will work. Ask Estel, we used it all the time when we traveled with the Dunédain, hunting Orcs." Celeborn turned to Elessar for confirmation. The brown haired King of Gondor _and_ Arnor nodded.

"They speak the truth, Lord Celeborn," he said. "This has never failed us before, nor do I think it will do so today." Celeborn sighed. He glanced around at the troops around him. There were 24 of them, 14 men and 10 Elves. He knew he had to split them equally, but he feared for them all. He did not want to send all the good warriors with Elladan, and leave Elrohir without any warriors to back him up … and vice versa. There was also the problem of the King of Gondor. If _he_ were to die … he didn't need to even _think_ of the chaos that would befall Middle-Earth and her inhabitants.

"Very well," he said at last. "Elladan, you and Faramir will attack from the rear, with them – " he separated five elves that had come with them from Imladris. " – and them," he said, separating five of the soldiers of Gondor. Elladan nodded.

"And you will be attacking from the front," he said. Celeborn nodded, hoping he had done the right thing. "We shall go now, Grandfather, there is not time to lose." Celeborn nodded.

"Take care, I do not think your father will appreciate you going to the Halls of Mandos before he does," he said. Elladan laughed.

"Honestly Grandfather, I am not a baby," he said. He nodded at Elessar. "Take care, brothers," he said to him and Elrohir, who nodded. With that, his team rode forward, heading through the dense forests. Celeborn watched them go, before he turned to the rest.

"We should get going too," he said.

**The Halls of Mandos:**

She sighed in contentment as she felt herself floating. She did not know where, or how, but she felt as though she was floating all the same. Her body felt light and numb, and her mind was in blissful rest. She supposed that this must have been the 'feeling after re-incarnation' that Nienna had told her about.

"Indeed, it _is_ what I was talking about," said the soft voice of Nienna. She looked around her, startled. No one was there. "I will show myself when the time comes … but for the moment, do you remember what I told you? About the House of Fëanor?"

Ëariel nodded slowly, although her mind screamed at her as she forced it to remember. It was enjoying its rest. "Fëanor created many items of surpassing beauty and skill, such as the Palantiri and the Silmarils," she said. "However, a curse was placed on his house when he refused to surrender the Silmarils to the Valar and when he came out of his exile – forcefully – and slayed the peaceful elves of Alqualondë."

"And?" prompted Nienna.

"He and his sons swore a dreadful oath to slay whoever it was the owned the Silmarils – be it Valar, Maiar, Elf of Man – if they refused to hand them over," said Ëariel. "He hated Melkor for having killed his father, Finwë, and for stealing the Silmarils. Fëanor died in battle upon reaching Middle-Earth, and his sons kept to their oath, bringing ruin to those who possessed the jewels afterwards." She stopped.

Fëanor, in _her_ opinion, sounded like one foolish elf, to allow a curse to be put on his House, just for the sake of three jewels. Then again … he had also been angry with Morgoth for slaying his father, whom he loved dearly and placed above all of his creations. In _that_ way, what he did was justifiable … but then again …

"You are correct in both aspects," said Nienna, her voice soft. "He did it for his father _and_ for the Silmarils. We cannot rightly blame him, although he did not follow our orders to stay put in the Undying Lands. He was stubborn, and it was that trait of his that brought him to his end, and brought the curse upon his family."

Ëariel nodded slowly, although her mind was asking her one question – the same question it had asked her when Nienna had started talking about Ilúvatar, the Valar, the Maiar, and, especially the House of Fëanor.

_Why was she telling her all of this?_

"It is for you to know," replied Nienna, reading her mind. "You will find out why later." Ëariel nodded. "But for now, it is time to take you – " Nienna stopped as a figure entered the 'chambers' the re-incarnated Elf was residing in. "What brings you here, brother?"

"It is time," said Námo, his face troubled. Nienna's _spirit_, which had been hiding whilst she had been talking to Ëariel, showed itself. Ëariel got her first good view of Nienna the Weeper, sister of Námo and Irmo. Her hair was dark, and her eyes were light, its deep pools showing age old wisdom. Turning her gaze to Námo, she wondered why his face was troubled.

"What is the matter, Námo?" asked Nienna, noticing that this wasn't the 'spirit' of her brother … it was her brother himself. Very rarely did her brother enter his realms in _person_, instead of sending his '_spirit_.'

"He has found out," said Námo.

"What do you mean?"

"I was pondering on where we should send her re-incarnated form to, in Middle-Earth," he said. "And the barrier I made to block my mind from his was weakened. He knows we are still raising her. He will move swiftly."

"Have you consulted Manwë?" asked Nienna.

"There is no time," said Námo. "I have to release her now." Ëariel watched as Námo approached her, his face slightly troubled. Nienna stared on as he placed his arm on her head. A dark cloud covered them, clouding her vision as a chilly breeze blew around her. When it all cleared, they were gone. She waited patiently in the realm, knowing that he was sending her to Middle-Earth.

Ëariel felt as though she was spinning through the air. She saw many shapes and things go past her – or rather, she saw herself passing many shapes and things. She saw clouds, and stars, and the sea … and then she felt everything pause. She turned her eyes to Námo, knowing that it was he that made them travel such.

"You are not ready for this …" he said, observing her with a frown on her face. She merely blinked at him, her clear, light green eyes confused.

"Not ready for what?" she asked. Námo shook his head.

"Remember this, Ëariel Mirëlómë," he said. "In the end, no matter what their initial purpose was, it was _greed_ that overcame the House of Fëanor. It was greed and lust that made them do what they did, and cursed them." He paused. "Do not go down the same path they did, at any cost." Looking at her face told him that she understood what he said about the greed, and that she didn't understand what he asked her not to do.

"I … will do my best … Lord Námo …" she said at last. Námo heard a loud voice calling to him … a familiar loud voice. From the look on Ëariel's face, he could tell that she heard it too. He shook his head trying to ignore the voice for a moment. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He thought of the lush, thriving green lands, of the now beautiful trees, of the peaceful settlement and its peaceful inhabitants … He felt Ëariel being pulled away from him and concentrated harder.

He heard her gasp and he felt her confusion. He felt a cool wind pick up around him and he opened his eyes. Through the curtains of darkness that surrounded them, he could see, behind Ëariel, wide, green lands with beautiful flowers blooming in them. He watched as she was engulfed by the lands … saw her confused expression, before the picture disappeared and darkness appeared once more.

He closed his eyes again and found himself facing his sister. "It is done," he said, answering her unasked question.

"Where did you send her?" asked Nienna, curious. Námo sighed.

"To the land in between the Blue Mountains and the Misty Mountains …" he said, not willing to speak further. Nienna frowned. From what she could remember, there was no elf dwelling in the land between the Blue Mountains and the Misty Mountains. There was only … the Kingdom of Arnor, and the Shire.

"He would have expected us to send her to an elf dwelling …" said Námo, answering the question that she was aching to ask him. "That is why I sent her elsewhere … where she will be able to adjust … until the time comes." Nienna nodded. He had his reasons for doing what he did.

"Come, you have wearied yourself. Let us return to your Halls." He nodded in agreement.

**In ****East Lórien****:**

Elladan pushed his sword through the goblin's chest, his face grim as his keen eyes scanned the surroundings for anymore creatures. He saw a goblin sneaking up on one of the soldiers of Gondor, and, grabbing the dead goblin's sword, he flung it at the other goblin with deadly aim. It hit it in the middle of his head, killing him at once. The soldier flashed him a grateful smile, knowing it was him.

Faramir slew the last Orc from the group that had attacked him and looked around. There were dead Orcs and Goblins littered around the woods. He glanced at the Elves sent by King Thranduil, thanking the High Powers that they had come to aid their fellow kin as well. The group of 12 led by Elladan and Faramir would not have been able to fight the large hosts of Orcs and Goblins that had lain in wait for them.

"Nárrond," called Elladan, glancing at the Captain of King Thranduil's forces. "Did you see any of our comrades fighting as you made your way here?" The brown haired elf shook his head.

"No, we did not," he said. "We saw a few Orcs – probably waiting as backup – but that was it." Elladan's face fell. The kingdom of King Thranduil lay in the North of Mirkwood, whereas Celeborn's kingdom lay in the South. To get to them, Nárrond and his forces would have had to go past the entrance to Celeborn's kingdom … where Elrohir and everyone else should have been fighting.

Could something have happened to them? He shook his head. He would have felt it. Perhaps they were outnumbered and needed help …

"We must go to their aid," said Faramir, thinking along the same lines. Elladan nodded. He turned to the elves and men that had accompanied them from Imladris, and to the handful of East Lórien elves they had found struggling to keep their watch towers safe from the Orcs and Goblins.

"We move forward. Leave these corpses here for now," he said. "We must go to your King." They all nodded and began moving forward.

"Lord Elladan," said Nárrond. "Another force of ours was heading to the entrance to Lord Celeborn's kingdom. We merely took an alternate route. Perhaps your friends are alright …" Elladan smiled at him.

"Let us hope they are," he said, knowing in his hand that he was right. He would have felt something – Elrohir would have tried communicating with him if something was wrong.

**At the same time:**

Elrohir looked around him, his face expressionless as he realized, with a sinking feeling, that they were outnumbered. Three out of the seven soldiers of Gondor had been slain – that much he had noticed, but had been unable to help them, being too preoccupied about avoiding some nasty Goblins from separating his head from his neck – permanently.

He gritted his teeth as more goblins entered the clearing. This wasn't looking good. The Orcs had gotten smarter, he thought wryly as he watched the goblins approach him, evil grins on their faces. Why did he think that way? It wasn't everyday that the Orcs thought of separating the armies of their enemies and attacking them separately, picking on the Men first.

He looked around wildly. He caught the flash of silver somewhere in between a few trees and knew that at least his grandfather was somewhere nearby. He raised his sword, his hand steady, as Orcs joined the Goblins heading towards him. This wasn't looking very good … at all …

The army of foes was almost upon him, when arrows came whizzing out of nowhere, hitting them. Elrohir watched in stupor as goblins and Orcs fell down, pierced with arrows. The remaining creatures he effortlessly killed, moving into action quickly. Once he was done, he looked around to see elves jumping out of the mallorn trees that grew around him.

One look at their clothes told him, with glee, that they were elves of King Thranduil. He smiled at them. "I do not know how to thank you, my friends," he said. They grinned back at him.

"How about we destroy the rest of these foul creatures before thinking of that?" suggested an elf with blond hair. Elrohir nodded.

"That would be nice," he said, grinning and sprinting lightly towards where he had seen flashes of silver. This was turning out to look quite good … he only hoped that Elladan and Faramir were doing just as well.

A few moments later, the fighting had ended. Elrohir stared in disgust at the Orcs and Goblins that littered the grass in the forests. Looking around, he saw some injured elves – the elves that had been defending their kingdom were the only ones that were injured, having fought for long.

"Elrohir, no news from Elladan?" asked Celeborn, walking up to his grandson. Elrohir shook his head slowly. Celeborn looked slightly worried.

"I wonder …" he whispered. Elrohir pretended that he didn't hear him as he concentrated all his energy on his twin, trying to communicate mentally with him. He felt his head throb with the build up of energy he was summoning into it, to form the link. The elves and men around him watched as a few beads of sweat formed on his face. They had never seen anything of the sort before – except for Elessar.

Elrohir fought away the panic that was rising up inside him. So far, he had not managed to create a link with Elladan. It worried him. Had something –

_ «-Happened to me? No, I'm sorry to disappoint you but I'm fine»_

A relieved smile appeared on Elrohir's face as he heard his brother's voice, sounding amused.

«_Oh well, there's always next time»_ He was sure he felt Elladan smile as well.

«_Are you all alright?»_

_ «Yes»_ He could tell him about the fallen later.

«_Good. I'll meet you soon. Till then»_ Elrohir felt the link break off, and was thankful. His head had been hurting quite a lot during the whole thing. He turned to the others.

"They're fine," he said, smiling. Celeborn looked relieved. "He said they're coming here."

"Very well," said Celeborn, taking control. "All the injured elves form a line next to that mallorn tree over there." Everyone stared at him in surprise. "Well?" The elves moved hurriedly to where he had pointed. "The rest of you move away and perhaps you could make yourselves useful by clearing up this mess."

Elrohir raised an eyebrow at Elessar as they listened to Celeborn's orders. He wanted them to do _what_?

"Well? We don't have all day! I intend on having this mess cleaned up before we leave!" said Celeborn, glaring at Elessar and Elrohir. "And it would _help_ if you hurried _up_!" Elrohir started his work, kicking a dead Orc away from the clearing as his eyes scanned an appropriate place to take the corpses to, and dispose of them.

The remaining soldiers of Gondor glanced at their king for orders. Shaking his head with a small smile on his face, Elessar nodded at them to get to work, joining the elves of Imladris and of Greenwood, while Celeborn tended to the injured.

When Elladan, Faramir and their troop reached them, they stopped in their tracks. It wasn't everyday that you got to see the _King_ of Gondor _and_ Arnor on his knees, rolling the dead corpses of Orcs and Goblins away from the clearing they were in. And it wasn't everyday that you got to see soldiers of Gondor doing the same, looking close to tears as the smell of rotten blood and dead corpses reached their noses, or the elves of Greenwood laughing _and_ doing the same.

"Well … everyone looks like they're doing well," said Elladan, his voice the sound of twinkling bells amidst the heavy atmosphere. Everyone turned to look at him and the rest.

"Well, well, looks like we have more helpers," said Elessar, a smile on his face. Elladan laughed.

"No can do, you look like you're having too much fun," he said, grinning. Nárrond did the same.

"I don't believe I gave you permission to talk, Estel!" snapped Celeborn, from his place tending the injured elves. "I don't care if you're the King of Gondor and Arnor or if you're the King of your dreams. I want my dwelling _cleaned_ of these creatures!"

"Rulers of kingdoms should clean them up themselves …" muttered Elrohir, appearing in the clearing looking dirty and grumpy. His grumpiness worsened as he saw his brother grinning.

"What was that Elrohir?" called Celeborn, turning his attention away from an elf. "Care to repeat it again?" Elrohir shook his head, still muttering under his breath. Elladan laughed again, this time with Faramir. "And you, Elladan! What are you doing just _standing_ there? These injured elves are more than a handful. Let's see what your father has taught you."

Still grinning, Elladan moved towards his grandfather. Yes, he'd show him what his father had taught him … and why his father was considered the best Healer to have lived in Middle-Earth during the Second and Third ages.

**Later:**

"Who's _she_?"

"I don't believe this …"

"Believe what?"

"She's an elf."

"You're … serious?"

"Rosie, I've seen elves before, remember?" Rosie stared at her husband, unable to understand what an _elf_ was doing … _here_. Her husband, however, had kept the bags of groceries he had in his hands on the ground, and was kneeling down next to the still figure of the elf. He took her hand in his, feeling for a pulse. "She's alive …" he said, sounding relieved.

"But … what's she doing here?" asked Rosie, kneeling down next to him, noticing the unusual and beautiful colour of the elf's hair. Sam shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, looking back at the elf. "But – " He was cut off when a small moan escaped the elf's lips. Rosie and Sam stared at the elf, Rosie half afraid, and Sam wondering whether the elf was in pain. They watched as her eyes fluttered open, and as she gasped and sat up straight, startling the two hobbits. She looked around wildly, not needing to be _smart_ to figure out that this wasn't the Halls of Mandos.

As she turned around, her gaze landed on the two hobbits kneeling down beside her. Her light green eyes widened as she continued to stare at them in awe. The first thought that ran through her head was; _they're so small_. One of the small creatures, a male, had curly light brown hair, and was rather plump. The other, a female, had brown hair … and was wearing a look of fright on her face as she looked at her.

It was then that it hit her – they must be _afraid_ of her, for her size. She attempted to smile at them as a cool breeze blew her silvery-golden hair around her.

"Do not be afraid …" she said, softly. "I will not harm you …" The male nodded, smiling awkwardly at her.

"I know you won't," he said. "You're an elf … and elves don't harm people." She smiled at him, despite the dizziness that was swimming around her head.

"Where … am I?" she asked, fighting off the dizziness. Sam and Rosie exchanged glances.

"You're in Hobbiton," said Sam. "In the Shire." The elf stared at him, puzzled.

"Hobbiton? The … Shire?" she echoed. Sam nodded.

"Yes," he said, frowning slightly as he realized that she didn't understand. "Perhaps it would help us explain this to you if you tell us where you're from," he said, hoping to tell her where the Shire was in relation to _her_ home. She blinked twice, his request running around her mind.

Where _was_ she from? The Halls of Mandos?

"I … I do not know …" she said, at last, getting the feeling that he wouldn't know what the Halls of Mandos were. Sam stared questioningly at her. Looking at her face and eyes, she didn't seem to be lying about saying she didn't know. She looked rather confused and … lost.

"What do you mean you _don't_ _know_?" asked Rosie, suddenly, not meaning to sound so rude. "Don't you know where you lived before you … came here?" The elf turned her green eyes to Rosie.

"I … was in the Halls of Mandos before I … came here …" she said, at last. Rosie and Sam exchanged confused glances. _Halls of Mandos_? Where was that? Was it an elf dwelling? Or was it made up?

An idea popped into Sam's mind. Perhaps she was from the West – from the Undying Lands that … Mister Frodo had sailed to …

"Are you from – " he was cut off again when he saw the elf double over, gripping her head as nausea rose up inside her. Her head was killing her with dizziness. "Er … my Lady?" asked Sam, meekly. "Perhaps you should rest for a little while …" The elf nodded slowly, trying to smile but not being quite able to.

"Can you stand?" asked Rosie, seeing she really _was_ in some sort of pain?

"I … can try …" said the elf, smiling weakly at her. Sam and Rosie stood up, helping her when they could.

"We'll take you t Bag-End … you should be able to rest there, and it's not too far from here," said Sam, looking at Rosie for approval. She nodded, although her mind was busy thinking where they could let this elf sleep. Perhaps … if they pushed two or three beds together, she would be able to lie down sideways …

"T … Thank you …" said the elf, fighting her dizziness back as they walked to 'Bag-End' as she knew that they wouldn't be able to carry her there if she collapsed.

**Author's Note:**

Phew … I was wondering whether or not I should include this last bit, but I thought, why not? I hope I didn't ruin it by including that!

Reviews are most welcome!

Hope you enjoyed this!

Till next time,

Siriusgirl1


	6. Stranger

**Disclaimer:**

I own _everything_ … JRR Tolkien only owns the character of Ëariel Mirëlómë (and a few others)

_Ahem_ … before I get sued (and get attacked by the spirit of JRR Tolkien) let me set things right; I own _nothing_ except the character of Ëariel Mirëlómë (and a few others) … JRR Tolkien owns _everything else_.

**Author's Note:**

Daughter-of-sunlight: I was thinking that when I included the Hobbits. I wasn't going to include them at all … but thought I should. Yes, I know. Mandos sounds much better than Námo – especially for _his_ role amongst the Valar. I know there was no Elrond and Arwen … and I'm sorry … they're not in this chapter either, but they'll definitely be in the next few! One of the best chapters in the story? Gosh … thanks … I only hope this one isn't bad! Thanks a lot for your review, and I hope you enjoy this!

Thanks for your reviews! Let's see if this chapter will be interesting as well!

**Chapter Six: Stranger**

****

****

Erestor strode purposefully down the corridors of Imladris, wondering who on earth could have arrived that people were making such a fuss about. As he reached the entrance to Imladris, his worries were immediately vanquished as he saw _who_ the people were.

"Legolas," he said, simply, smiling at the blond haired elf. Legolas smiled warmly at him, as they clasped each others arms in the typical elvish form of greeting.

"It has been a long time, has it not, Erestor?" he asked, referring to the time he had not visited Imladris. Erestor nodded.

"Indeed," he said. "Although it would have been best if you had not visited when you were younger … you were a _handful_ then." Legolas grinned. He turned to the rest of his host.

"Will it be possible to accommodate thirteen elves and six dwarves here?" he asked. Erestor nodded.

"Why … yes," he said. "Although … if I had been _told_ of your journey, I would have already made preparations …" Legolas grinned.

"Did Estel not tell you of our plans?" he asked. Erestor shook his head. "I see … where _is_ he anyway?"

"That, my friend is a long story …" said Erestor. Legolas frowned slightly. Something was wrong. He could see it in the older elf's eyes.

"What –"

"_Hello_?? I _would_ like to mention that _I, _Gimli am here as well …" said Gimli, interrupting him. "Just in case you had forgotten …" he added, as he saw the two elves glance at him. Erestor smiled.

"Indeed, Gimli, son of Gloin, welcome to Imladris …" he said. He turned to the rest of the host. "Come, let us go inside. We will get your things unloaded after you have had a meal for I am sure you are weary from your journey …"

"And from battle …" muttered Dínlos. Erestor raised an eyebrow.

"Battle?" he questioned. The elf nodded.

"Aye, battle against Orcs …" he said. Erestor glanced at the whole host again. They had … battled Orcs?

"We can talk about it later, can't we?" asked Legolas, watching Erestor's face and knowing that he was going to ask them to tell him what happened. "After, as you suggested, a good meal?"

The truth was, he wanted to discuss with Erestor, without alarming the others, about what the Orc had said about their _real _master … He had not forgotten that …

"Very well …" said Erestor, nodding and leading the way inside the refuge.

**Meanwhile, in Bag End:**

"What are we going to do with her, Sam?" asked Rosie, as she washed the dishes. Sam stared at the tea in his mug.

"We can't ask her to leave Rosie …" he said. "I mean, it's quite clear that she's suffering from some form of … memory loss."

"How do we know whether she did something wrong, and was kicked out of her home? I don't want any wrong-doers living with us," said Rosie. "And I don't want the neighbours saying strange things about us either." Sam sighed.

"I understand what you're saying Rosie," he said. "But … how can we just ask her to leave?" Rosie scrubbed furiously at a non-existent stain on a plate.

"You just want to keep her here because you're fascinated by elves …" she said, correctly.

"Aye, I am fascinated by elves," agreed Sam. "But … there's something … _odd_ about this one." Rosie turned around, triumphantly.

"See? See? I was right! If you can sense something odd about her, then _why_ are you still keeping her here?" she asked.

"When I said _odd_, I didn't mean it in a bad way," said Sam. "It's as though … she's got some … some hidden strength or something that even she doesn't know about …"

"Which is all the more reason for us to have nothing to do with her," said Rosie, turning back to the dishes.

"Rosie, just hear me out, please," said Sam, pleadingly. "The Elves helped us a lot on our Quest … the Quest of the Ring … When one of them appears in the Shire, injured and exhausted, how can you expect me to kick her out of my home?" He paused. "Well … out of Frodo's home …"

"Sam, the Quest is _over_. It's been done, and, if you ask me, is _history_," said Rosie. "Besides, the Elves _had_ to help you. They were the ones that sent you on the Quest in the first place!"

Sam said nothing. Why couldn't Rosie understand what he was trying to say? It wasn't that she _didn't_ understand … it was more that she didn't _want _to understand. When in that state of mind, nothing he said would make her change her opinion.

She gazed through the small round window she was seated in front of. It was big enough for her to see the healthy green grass swaying in the wind, together with the small roses and bluebells and other flowers of all sorts. She smiled. It was … pretty.

It was _much_ prettier than the Halls of Mandos …

Her smile disappeared slightly as she remembered the question that had been asked of her by the one called Sam. He had asked her where she was from. That was a very good question. Where _was_ she from? It seemed that they did not even know what the Halls of Mandos were … and that didn't help the slightest bit.

Yes, she _knew_ that she was re-incarnated, which had to mean that she had died at some point in her first life … but how could she tell _that_ to them? And she didn't even know where she lived in her first life … so that was no help either.

Her sharp ears caught the sound of raised voices, causing her to tilt her head to the side, wondering what was going on. She recognized the voices as those belonging to Sam and his wife Rosie. Her eyes widened slightly as she heard what they were saying.

Her eyes lowered, she turned her head back to the window. Rosie didn't want her here … To be honest, she had guessed that she didn't want her here from before, when she had woken up in Bag End. The things Rosie said and did … told her that. She couldn't be blamed. Who would want a complete stranger living in their house?

She sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Mandos could _at least_ have _told_ her what was going on … She turned around as she heard the patter of feet stop by her 'room.' She looked curiously at the door, wondering who it was. She waited. The door was pushed open slowly, and a golden head peeked into the room.

Ëariel smiled as she saw the little girl. She was … cute. The girl caught sight of her and blushed.

"I'm … sorry …" she said, meekly. She shook her head.

"You did nothing wrong to apologize …" she said. The girl smiled shyly at her. Ëariel waited patiently, sensing that she wanted to tell her something, but was wondering whether or not she should.

"I'm Elanor," she said, at last. Ëariel smiled.

"That's a very pretty name, Elanor," she said. "Named after a flower … I'm sure you'll be just as pretty …" Elanor smiled at her again.

"What's your name?" she asked, courageously.

"Ëariel," she said, not bothering about her 'other' name.

"Ëariel …" repeated Elanor. "Is that a flower too?" Ëariel shook her head, sending her silvery-golden hair flying gracefully around her head.

"No," she said. "It is Elvish … for Sea Star." Elanor's eyes widened.

"Do you like the sea then?" she asked, curiously.

"Hmm … I certainly don't _hate_ it …" said Ëariel. "And I'm not exactly in _love_ with it … if you know what I mean …" She knew, as she said that, that one day the longing for the sea would awaken in her.

"Oh …" said Elanor. She looked at her and then down at her feet. "Can … can you … tell me a story?"

"A story?" asked Ëariel, surprised. Elanor flushed.

"If you like to, of course," she said hurriedly. Ëariel shook her head.

"Oh no, I'd love to," she said. "But … what do you want to hear about?"

"Anything," she said. "Something with big trees, bright flowers and birds chirping everywhere …" Ëariel smiled.

"Of course," she said. "Though … wouldn't you like to sit down? I'm sure that standing must be rather tiring …" Elanor nodded, looking grateful that she had told her that. She moved towards her, slowly, almost as though she thought that she would hit her if she got _too_ close, and sat down a few steps from where she was sitting. Waiting until she had settled down, Ëariel started her story, making it up as she went on. "Once, many years ago, there was a … … …"

**Later in the evening:**

Rosie barged out in to the garden, a worried expression on her face as she looked all around for her children. She had searched for them nearly everywhere, but couldn't find anyone of them. She saw Sam kneeling in front of some plant or the other and walked over to him.

"Sam! Our children are missing!" she said, fighting to keep the anxiety from rising inside her. Sam turned around hurriedly.

"What?" he asked.

"Our children are missing!" repeated Rosie. Sam stood up.

"Rosie, how can they be missing? I was here for the past couple of hours and I didn't see anyone walk past me," he said. "And Frodo Gardener was in Rose and Merry's room, looking after them."

"Well they're not there now!" said Rosie. "I checked there! I checked everywhere!" Sam frowned slightly.

"I'll take another look inside before we go out and sound the alarm," he said, his mind reeling. His children wouldn't suddenly _disappear_ like that … then where were they?

With Rosie by his side, he searched the whole of Bag End, which was saying _something_ as the place was massive. They stood outside the kitchen, now looking very worried.

"I told you they were missing," said Rosie, trying to stay calm. "I told you!"

"Rosie, we don't know for _sure_ yet," said Sam, trying to reassure her. "They could have gone for – "

"They're not at home, Sam! How can I think they're _not_ missing?" asked Rosie. Sam opened his mouth to say something, when the sound of a door being pushed open interrupted him. He and Rosie both turned around to see the door to their far left being opened.

"Hey, isn't that Ëariel's room?" asked Sam, surprised. Rosie glared at him.

"I _don't_ care if it's her room or n – " Her voice trailed off as she saw four little figures walking out of the room, huge smiles on their faces.

"Thanks again, Ëariel," said Elanor, turning to face the silvery-golden haired elf.

"Oh, it was nothing," said Ëariel, smiling warmly at her. "But I suggest that you take Rose and Merry to your mother … I think they need a bit of nursing …" Elanor nodded.

"Can we do this again?" asked Frodo Gardener, looking hopefully at her. She smiled.

"Of course," she said. "But not today … I think you've heard enough stories for one day, don't y – " Ëariel stopped as she saw Rosie stride over to them, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Where _were_ you?" she asked, staring hard at her children.

"Ëariel was telling us stories, Mother," said Elanor, smiling widely. "Do you want to hear – "

"_No_ I don't want to hear them," snapped Rosie, unable to stop herself. Ëariel watched her carefully. "The next time you four wander around without telling me, you _will_ be punished! I thought you were lost!"

"But mother, you probably didn't search the hou – "

"I _did_. Your father and I both searched the house!" said Rosie, interrupting Frodo Gardener, her second child.

"Then why didn't you come to Ëariel's room?" asked Frodo Gardener. Rosie glared at him.

"Because – because … I never thought you would go and spend time talking to _her_," she said at last. Ëariel raised an eyebrow, before smiling weakly. Elanor took a step forward.

"Why wouldn't we want to spend time talking to her?" she asked, curiously.

"Never mind," said Rosie. "You four are going straight to bed once you have your dinner."

"But Mother – "

"No complaints!" she said, shaking her head. Ëariel watched the children trudge towards the kitchen, their heads drooping. Rosie turned to her. "Please, Miss, the next time you ask them to talk to you, kindly tell me so I won't think that they're lost …"

"Mother, _we_ talked to her. I went and talked to her first and then got Frodo, Merry and Rose to come with me," said Elanor, hearing her.

"I thought I told you to go to the kitchen," said Rosie. Sam stepped up.

"Rosie, let them be," he said, warily.

"Sam – "

"Ëariel was just telling them stories," he said. "There's nothing wrong with that. She wasn't poisoning them or anything …" Ëariel smiled warmly at him. Rosie sighed in defeat.

"Fine, fine, it's _clearly_ five against one," she said. "I'm just trying to say that I don't like _my_ children talking to strangers." With that, she walked into the kitchen. Sam sighed.

" … Don't … worry about what she said …" he said at last, looking at Ëariel. "She … she's like that at the beginning … but once she gets to know you better, I'm sure she'll be fine …"

"I hope she will …" said Ëariel, feeling slightly hurt, but knowing that she was right. She was, in all aspects, a _stranger_.

**In Imladris:**

****

Legolas leaned against the thick trunk of the tree and stared up at the stars. Ëarendil was gleaming brightly in the sky. Even with Ëarendil's reassuring presence in the sky, he was still troubled. He was unable to forget the Orc's last words … before he killed him.

_Our real master is returning …_

He had thought about that single statement all throughout the rest of their journey, and had come to a conclusion. He had realized … or rather _remembered_ that the Orcs _had not_ been created by Sauron. Sauron was merely … the only truly evil being that they could turn to in those times and call their master.

The person that _did_ make the Orcs … he shivered slightly … was none other than Melkor …

It was he that had captured many elves after they had awakened, and taken them into his pits of Utumno and tortured beyond recognition … into Orcs.

Was that who the Orc was referring to as the _real_ master? He paled slightly. If he was _indeed_ referring to Melkor, then what about the part where he said that he was _returning_? Was Melkor returning to the world then?

He shuddered. He hoped not. If he _was_ … he doubted whether they would be able to stop him …

"Legolas?" He turned around hurriedly, being so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the approaching figure. It was Erestor.

"Erestor …" he said. "What is it?"

"Nothing is wrong with _me_," said Erestor. "Though … you look troubled …" Legolas sighed.

"Remember you wanted to know about us being attacked by Orcs?" he asked. Erestor nodded. "Well, to make a meaningless long story short, I asked one of them why they were coming out of hiding … after their 'master' – Sauron – was destroyed … and it said that Sauron wasn't their real master …"

"Of course he was not their real master," said Erestor. "My dear boy, have you not paid attention to your History tutor, whoever he may have been? The Orcs were created by … Melkor, and _he_ is their real master. Sauron … was probably just a 'second' master."

"It _also_ said that their real master … was _returning_ …" said Legolas, slowly. He heard Erestor quick intake of breath.

" … Returning?" He nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Now I know that Melkor was cast into the Void, after he was defeated by Ëonwë, the Herald of Manwë … so how can he … return?" Erestor said nothing for a while. "Erestor?"

"I am afraid … that it _is_ possible …" he said, quietly. "You may not have heard of this before, but the doomsman of the Valar decreed that he would escape the void one day and that the Sun and the Moon shall disappear … and the whole world will be trapped in Darkness. Then, Túrin Turambar will kill him, standing beside Tulkas and Fionwë …" He paused, thinking it ironic that he had repeated that very prophecy to Elladan and Elrohir a few days ago.

"So … does this mean that he … has escaped?" asked Legolas. Erestor shook his head.

"I do not know for sure," he said. "But … if he _had_ escaped … don't you think that Orcs and other creatures created by him would have appeared _everywhere_ by now?" Legolas nodded.

"Yes … you are right …" he said. "But what can we do if he does indeed escape?" Erestor stared at him.

"The question we have to ask now is how we know that all this is happening because Melkor either _has_ escaped, or is _planning_ to escape?" he asked. "How do we know that Morgoth has _anything_ to do with this?"

"But … who else could be the Orcs' _real _master?" asked Legolas.

"Aye, that is quite true …" agreed Erestor. Legolas' frown deepened.

"And how do we know whether trouble has befallen Estel and the others on their way to East Lórien?" he asked.

"I do not know that …" said Erestor. "But with people as skilled as Elladan, Elrohir, Lord Celeborn and Faramir helping the already brilliantly skilled Estel, I do not think that things will go wrong for them …"

"You are right …" he said.

"And Master Gimli and his _dear_ friend Morras are going to find themselves kicked out of Imladris if they discuss anymore methods of how to chop down a few trees to start a huge fire and re-forge their axes, which do not need re-forging anyway." Legolas laughed lightly. "Kindly tell them that there are still two elves that worked the smithy here and that they would be more than willing to help them – in the _smithy_."

"Erestor …" he said suddenly, his smile disappearing. "Have you noticed … anything different about Arwen?" Erestor was surprised by his question.

"Why do you ask?" he asked. Legolas smiled.

"Not for the reason of going to Estel and blurting everything out to him," he said, knowing that that was what Erestor wanted to find out. "I noticed when I went to see her and Eldarion in Minas Tirith, that she seemed different … she seemed rather sad." He paused. "At first, I thought it was because her father wouldn't get to see her son … but she was saddened whenever she mentioned her father's name …"

"It is not unusual for someone to miss their father, is it?" asked Erestor, lightly. Legolas shook his head, remembering his _own_ father still residing in Greenwood … or the Wood of Greenleaves as it had been called … Eryn Lasgalen in Elvish.

"No," he said. "But … I have a feeling that … other people … think it is because she is regretting her choice to become mortal …" Erestor glanced sharply at him.

"That is what Estel thinks?" he asked.

"I did not say 'Estel thinks it is because she is regretting her choice to become mortal' did I?" asked Legolas.

"She needs some time, Legolas," said Erestor. "She cannot be expected to forget her father … and her kind."

"No one is asking her to forget her father or her kind," said Legolas. "It is just that … I am afraid that … that Estel will become lost one day – not because of Arwen, of course not – but because she does not tell him about her grief …"

Erestor said nothing for a while. He understood what Legolas was saying. If Arwen was merely grieving for her father's passing, she could have confided into Estel … Her holding back her emotions simply made Estel think that it was because of _him_ and the choice that she made to be with him that was making her upset.

"That matter … is between Estel and Arwen …" he said at last. "We should let them handle it."

"I know that," muttered Legolas. "But I don't want to see two of my friend's get hurt …"

"It is getting late …" said Erestor, passing a subtle hint. Legolas smiled.

"Indeed," he said. "Perhaps I should go and sleep whilst you head to the library and read a thick book without noticing anything else around you – even if Melkor were to show up beside you." Erestor glared at him.

"What _I_ do with _my_ time is _my_ business," he said. "And, since I am in any case much older than you, my friend, I have _every _right to order you around …" Legolas grinned.

"Yes, you _are_ starting to look quite old …" he said, before sprinting away before he was harmed by Erestor.

**Meanwhile:**

****

Estel rubbed his eyes wearily as he urged his horse to go on. This was _not_ his good day … and neither was it Elrohir's, he thought, as he looked at the weary looking elf. After 'cleansing' the forest for Celeborn, they had rested very little, as one of the elves of Eryn Lasgalen had said that a mound of dead orcs was found by the Misty Mountains, close to where the dwelling of Hollin had been.

That had worried them as the area mentioned above, was quite close to Imladris. Fearing that Imladris would be attacked, they had made haste to return, fearing for their friends and family.

They were still two days from Imladris, and were starting to get weary without any rest or food. Celeborn, traveling at the back of the group, noticed this and frowned slightly.

True, he did want to get to Imladris as fast as he could, but he wanted everyone to be able to fight, if it was necessary. At the rate they were going, he doubted whether they would even be able to lift a sword in battle. The Men were looking especially weary. He sighed as he turned to look at Elladan who was riding beside him.

His eldest grandson was looking quite weary too … after spending his energy healing the injured elves. Looking once more at the rest of the group, he made his decision, and directed his horse to the head of the group. Once getting there, he turned his horse around to face them.

"We will stop riding when we reach the Gladden River," he announced, firmly. "We will set up camp there and set out tomorrow morning."

"We cannot afford to waste time," said Elrohir, wearily.

"Exactly, every moment we delay, Imladris can be moments away from being attacked," added Elladan.

"Did you not say yourself that we need to make haste?" asked Estel, surprised. Celeborn nodded.

"Aye, I did," he said. "But we will not be able to help anyone if we are unable to stand straight, gripping our weapons in our hands." He looked around at everyone. "I can see clearly that you are all wary. We need to stop. If, and I mean _if_ Imladris _is_ attacked, forget not that we have a certain Elf that has fought a number of wars, although he may not be _excellent_, when the time calls for it, he can be quite outstanding …" Everyone stared blankly at him, causing him to sigh. "I am talking about Erestor."

"Erestor?" asked Elrohir.

"Indeed, your History teacher," said Celeborn.

"E – Erestor?" stammered Elladan, imagining the stern faced chief advisor holding a sword.

"I _do_ believe his name _is_ Erestor, yes," said Celeborn, amused as he saw their amazement.

" … Erestor?" finished Estel, making Celeborn frown slightly.

"_Yes, Erestor_," he said at last, turning to Faramir.

"W – What?"

"Aren't you going to say '_Erestor?'_ as well?" he asked. Faramir shook his head meekly. He had been about to say that. "Good. Now let us make haste to the Gladden River and then prepare to set up camp."

"Er … grandfather …" said Elladan. "Set up camp … with _what_?"

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, we didn't bring anything with us from Imladris to set up camp, remember?" asked Elrohir. "We sped to East Lórien without stopping for rest."

"Who said you need tents to set up camp?" asked Celeborn.

"Er … perhaps it is because you need a _tent_ to _set up_?" asked Estel. Celeborn glared at him.

"It is quite simple, actually," he said. "We find grass, we get off our horses, we lie down on the grass and we rest."

The rest of the company gaped at him. As if riding without stopping for four days, fighting Orcs and Goblins, and clearing up the mess and tending to the injured weren't enough … they had to sleep on … uneven bits of ground where grass grew?

"But – " Elrohir closed his mouth as Celeborn sent a _deadly_ glared in his direction.

"Enough dawdling! We don't have time to waste!" he said. "Quickly now, if you want to reach Imladris in _this age_." Elladan, Elrohir, Estel and Faramir exchanged somewhat amused and relieved glances. Amused at Celeborn's orders, and relieved to finally be able to rest – even if it _was_ on the ground. "Quickly now!"

"Yes, grandfather," said Elrohir, urging his horse to move faster.

"Oh boy …" muttered Estel, doing the same.

"I'm sure his people in East Lórien must be having a fun time," said Elladan smiling weakly. "With him gone …"

"He _is_ your grandfather, is he not?" queried Faramir. The twins grinned, nodding. They all urged their horses to move faster; hoping that this bit of rest wouldn't prove fatal to those in Imladris … _if_ they were in danger ...

**Author's Note:**

****

I know it wasn't brilliant, but I realized that I had forgotten about Legolas who was supposed to arrive in Imladris. Ooops!

I made Rosie a little nasty (and I'm sorry if you don't like it) to prove the point that, technically, Ëariel _is_ a stranger. If someone suddenly appeared near your house, not knowing where she was from, or anything of the sort, except for her name, wouldn't you be wary? And it also goes to show that Ëariel needs to get acquainted with some elves … soon!

Reviews are most welcome!

Until Chapter Seven! (Whoa … I got _this_ far?)

Siriusgirl1


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